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Evaluation and Credentialing in Digital Music
Communities
This report was made possible by grants from the John D. and Catherine
T. MacArthur Foundation in connection with its grant making initiative
on Digital Media and Learning. For more information on the initiative
visit http://www.macfound.org.
The John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation Reports on
Digital Media and Learning
A complete series list can be found at the back of the book.
Evaluation and Credentialing in Digital Music
Communities
Benefits and Challenges for Learning and Assessment
H. Cecilia Suhr
The MIT Press
Cambridge, Massachusetts
London, England
© 2014 Massachusetts Institute of Technology
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any
form by any electronic or mechanical means (including photocopying,
recording, or information storage and retrieval) without permission in
writing from the publisher.
MIT Press books may be purchased at special quantity discounts for
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special_sales@mitpress.mit.edu.
This book was set in Stone by the MIT Press. Printed and bound in the
United States of America.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Suhr, H. Cecilia (Hiesun Cecilia), 1979–.
Evaluation and credentialing in digital music communities : benefits
and challenges for learning and assessment / H. Cecilia Suhr.
pages cm.—(John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation
reports on digital media and learning)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-0-262-52714-9 (pbk. : alk. paper)
1. Indaba Music (Electronic resource). 2. Spotify. 3. Online social
networks. 4. Music—Internet marketing. I. Title.
ML74.7.S84 2014
780.285’4678—dc23
2014017229
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Contents
Series Foreword vii
1Introduction 1
2 Evaluation of Music by Audience: Spotify’s “Hit or Not”
Game 19
3 Evaluations of Music by Peers and Professionals on Indaba
Music 37
4 Underpinning Digital Badges as a Symbol of Honor 61
5 Digital Badges in Music Communities and Digital
Evaluations 83
Notes 89
References 91
Series Foreword
The John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation Reports on
Digital Media and Learning, published by the MIT Press, in collaboration with the Monterey Institute for Technology and Education (MITE), present findings from current research on how
young people learn, play, socialize and participate in civic life.
The Reports result from research projects funded by the MacArthur Foundation as part of its $50 million initiative in digital
media and learning. They are published openly online (as well as
in print) in order to support broad dissemination and to stimulate further research in the field.
1 Introduction
The evaluation of music has long been part of the cultural and
media discourse, including reviews in newspapers, magazines,
press coverage, ratings, the Billboard charts, and online commentaries. Often a key cultural intermediary, such as an artist
and repertoire (A&R) agent, makes a decision based on a particular work’s potential mass appeal (Zwaan, ter Bogt, and Raaij
makers 2009). Upon public release of an album, the press plays
a significant role that can “make or break” musicians’ careers
(Brennan 2006).
While music critics play a vital role in evaluating and critiquing music, fans also evaluate music through online reviews, and
the significance of fan reviews can go beyond simple expressions
of likes and dislikes. For example, the progressive rock genre has
been shaped by fan reviews and discourses through resolving
competing definitions in hegemonic tension (Ahlkvist 2011).
With the rise of participatory fan culture (Jenkins 2006),
aspiring and professional musicians alike have used social media
as a vital platform for showcasing and promoting their music. As
insightfully noted by Brown (2012):
The greatest change wrought by the advent of new media is in facilitating
a groundswell of amateur and semi-professional musicians in the same
2 Chapter 1
way that the provision of public sporting facilities enables wider participation in amateur sport and an explosion of professional sports. (17)
In this respect, Keen (2008) has argued that the democratization of amateur cultural productions in digital environments
has resulted in the degradation of cultural standards.1 Yet the
ubiquity of amateur cultural production in digital environments
seems to have rapidly increased the evaluation practices in
recent times. Rating, ranking, voting, “liking,” and “friending”
have all become the fabric of social media activities today, and
ordinary users, peers, and critics subsequently play an integral
role as cultural intermediaries.
In the early days of social media, marked by the birth of
Myspace in 2003, the evaluation of music was reflected in the
ongoing valorization of popularity (i.e., quantity and numbers).
In a previous work, Social Media and Music (Suhr 2012), I offered
a preliminary analysis of how musicians gain popularity on
social networking sites and the subsequent conversion of popularity into social, economic, and cultural capital. In this study
and others (Suhr 2009, 2010), I used applied social protocols,
Hardt and Negri’s (2000) frameworks of immaterial and affective
labor, and Terranova’s (2004) concept of free labor to analyze
musicians’ efforts to gain popularity on social networking sites.
The goal of this analysis was to examine the emergence of voluntary activities in digital environments. Indeed, as a testament to
how important these laboring practices are for gaining popularity, the number of books and services on how to increase popularity is on the rise. Inasmuch as the practice of social protocols,
tips, and techniques may seem tangential and frivolous from the
standpoint of the judgment and evaluation of music, in a close
analysis, these activities are often intricately interwoven, yielding a synergistic impact.
Introduction 3
Recently, evaluations have become more complex, no longer
focusing solely on gaining popularity through adopting particular social protocols or spamming others relentlessly in social
media platforms. The evaluations of music have become diversified through various contest mechanisms and have even been
monetized through an array of website services. Slicethepie.
com, songpeople.com, musicxray.com, and hitpredictor.com are
examples of sites that promote useful feedback for musicians.
On some of these sites, random audience members are paid to
give feedback and critiques.
Another development in music evaluations is the process of
credentialing through digital badges. Digital badges have recently
emerged as a potential alternative credentialing method in informal learning environments. Digital Media and Learning and the
MacArthur Foundation have funded preliminary exploratory
studies of this method, which paralleled Mozilla’s groundbreaking Open Badges program. Participating organizations that issue
badges through Mozilla’s Open Badges program are mainly in the
fields of education, games, and informal learning organizations,
although a few cultural organizations are also involved, such as
the Dallas Museum of Art and the Smithsonian American Art
Museum. Given the widespread and rapid increase of evaluation
and credentialing in digital music communities, at the time of
analysis, music was noticeably absent in Mozilla’s Open Badges
program. Yet this absence does not mean that badge issuing has
not taken place in digital music communities. Although in a
much more limited and discursive context, digital badges were
offered on Microsoft’s Zune Social site. In 2008, digital badges
were awarded to site users who listened to artists or albums, as
well as those who contributed to forums and music reviews. However, this social networking site did not gain much momentum,
4 Chapter 1
and in the end some controversy arose surrounding the community’s failure (Newman 2011). Similar to Zune’s practices, Spotify’s
playlists also issue badges for those who function as music curators and digital DJs. Although digital badges were developed to
encourage fans and music listeners to participate as a new type of
tastemakers, few digital music communities have adopted digital
badges to aid in assessment and evaluation. In this context, this
study explores digital music communities’ use of digital badges
as a reward for both casual music evaluators and musicians. The
first case study focuses on audience evaluation via playing Spotify’s Hit or Not game, where game players evaluate a song’s hit
potential and receive digital badges as rewards. In this vein, the
first case study explores the gamification of learning and evaluation; when the act of music evaluation turns into a game, what do
the players learn, and what may be the implications of this type
of evaluation? The second, more in-depth case study on Indaba
Music examines the process of gaining badges through involvement in contests. In addition, I explore whether or not gaining
badges holds significance for musicians. Taken as a whole, this
report analyzes how digital badges are perceived by both music
listeners and musicians. To what extent can digital badges offer
an effective way to represent and credit musicians’ accomplishments and merits? What are the emerging challenges, benefits,
and shortcomings in the use of digital badges as an alternative
evaluation mechanism? How do the uses of digital badges in the
context of assessing creativity intersect or diverge with the practices related to education and other noncreative fields?
Overall this report contends that using digital badges as a
means of assessment or credentialing in digital music communities poses a unique set of challenges and shortcomings. A comparison with the educational context makes this clear. Although
Introduction 5
several researchers are concerned about the gamification of education (Domínguez et al. 2013; Lee and Hammer 2011), in digital
music communities such as Indaba Music, the process of acquiring a badge involves more complex assessment processes, such as
peer, amateur, and expert evaluations. Many musicians’ efforts
at reputation building and portfolio creation serve as important links with the music industry’s acceptance and recognition.
However, unlike the notion of symbolic capital (Bourdieu 1984),
whereby honor and prestige are acquired through collective
understanding, digital badges have thus far not gained collective
value among Spotify game players and Indaba musicians. Much
of this is due to the mainstream music industry’s assessment criteria. The unique culture emerging in the digital spaces also plays
a part, though, as the criteria, assessments, and meaning-making processes are often intricately interwoven and sometimes in
conflict with the music industry’s ideologies and norms. Yet it is
also important to realize that when it comes to understanding
the evolution of a certain dominant criterion, one should consider Negus’s (1998) point that music production “does not take
place simply ‘within’ a corporate environment created according to the requirements of capitalist production but in relation
to broader culture formations and practices” (360). The newly
emerging norms, criteria, and standards in digital environments
are also shaped by the culture in which they thrive.
In understanding the emerging evaluation methods, tools,
and credentialing systems, one must account for multiple
aspects, including human agency, resistance, emerging norms,
social protocols, and individual motivations, as well as the ideological undercurrents and the culture of the particular institutions that grant the credentials and merits. Thus an analysis
of emerging evaluation practices in the digital environment is
6 Chapter 1
ideally situated at the nexus of social, technological, and complex hegemonic cultural practices.
Theoretical Overview
The underlying premise for this research draws on several interconnected themes. Although the context of the research stems
from the intersection between digital media studies and popular
music studies, the relevant modes of inquiry are not exclusive
to one particular discipline. A concentration on a certain discipline’s prominent interests would limit the scope of this study to
a reductionist inquiry, inevitably reducing the research conclusions to a binary format. A typical question potentially asked in
a micro-context would be: Are badges effective measuring tools
for the evaluation of music? In a macro-perspective, the attention would focus on digital capitalism and the economy and
would seek to answer such questions as: Are digital communities
of music empowering or exploitative places? My goal is to avoid
posing questions that require deterministic answers. Instead
I am convinced that the question about evaluation is neither
a debate about the good-or-bad dichotomization nor an issue
solely limited to the educational context. Rather, the significant
issues traverse an array of disciplines, such as game studies, education, popular music studies, critical cultural studies, advertising and marketing, philosophy, sociology, computer-mediated
communication, social psychology, and ethnomusicology. To
this end, my goal is to unpack the topic of evaluation from various overlapping perspectives.
At this juncture, a brief overview of some of the pressing issues
within the context of the popular music industry is imperative.
Various long-standing issues, such as the dichotomy between
Introduction 7
commerce and art, extend through today, and we cannot jump
into a discussion on evaluation without locating the ideological stance and position of the evaluative platforms. Many scholars have sought to understand the tensions between art and
commerce, and between high art and popular music (Gracyk
2007; Negus 1995). In a capitalist society, musicians’ quests to
be creative and artistic are often considered at odds with the
profit-driven music industry (Stratton 1982, 1983). Negus (1999)
explores the intersection between culture, industry, and musical creativity and argues that “culture produces an industry,”
thereby rejecting the view that the music industry is only “governed by an organizational logic or structure” (14). In line with
this view, Frith (1996) notes that the art/commerce boundary
is flawed and reductionist, contending that both A&R (artist
and repertoire) agents (those who recruit rising talents) and artists view art and commerce in tandem, rather than as disparate
issues (90).
Another dichotomy analogous to the art/commerce tension
is the tension between mainstream record labels and independent labels. Over time, the distinction between these two types
of labels has gradually decreased (Hesmondhalgh 1999; Strachan
2007). Yet one aspect that cannot be ignored is that, in comparison to the smaller labels, the bigger the firm, the stronger
the focus will be on profit maximization (Wikstrom 2010). Similarly, independent musicians continue to voice their concerns
about compromised creativity (Brown 2012). Nonetheless the
sound and direction of musical creativity are determined not
only at the level of production but also through distribution
channels, which function as another level of gatekeeping. Radio
has always been a staple of the music industry’s critical distribution channels in terms of promotions, often achieved through a
8 Chapter 1
payola practice, which involves paying radio station DJs to play
select songs on air (Segrave 1994). College radio stations, on the
other hand, are often known as supportive and viable alternative
platforms for indie music. Yet there has been a struggle to maintain this independence; Desztich and McClung (2007) and Waits
(2008) note that the music industry has also gradually permeated college radio stations in regard to what music gets selected
for airplay.
Although the corporate music industry still holds power,
scholarly discourses on musicians’ do-it-yourself (DIY) practices
have also increased. In the past, DIY culture was constructed in
the context of punk music, a genre in which resistance to commercialized music was a central ethos and part of punk’s musical
identity (Dunn 2012; Lee 1995). DIY practices have also been
discussed in live music and social media (Lingel and Naaman
2011), have been explored in relation to the unique ideological
formations shaping its creative identity (Mōri 2009), and have
been lauded for their democratic potential in helping Internet
labels to create alternative niche music outlets without posing
a threat to major record labels (Galuszka 2012). However, musicians can rarely remain completely autonomous from the music
industry or from corporate culture. Dale (2009) also rightly
points out that Internet-based social networks may still generate questions about power structures among DIY musicians: “For
those interested in producing the kind of counter-hegemonic
agency … questions of power and power relations remain pressing” (191). Without a doubt, the reconfiguration of dominant
and subordinate forces deserves critical attention, and I argue
that despite alternative modes of sharing and distribution, dominant power is maintained by the music industry. This is evident
when we consider how social media environments have turned
Introduction 9
into a testing ground for many emerging artists, some of whom
have been scouted by major record labels after attaining social
capital (Suhr 2012). Often the discourse surrounding musicians’
success stories emphasizes getting noticed by someone affiliated
with the music industry or gaining the mainstream industry’s
recognition. These success stories are frequently featured on Indaba Music and other sites as testimony to the optimistic view
that “you, too, can be the next one.” It is important to also note
how musicians perceive the DIY trend, and whether or not this
development is considered an impediment to their career management and advancement.
In this report, I reveal that DIY musicians do not maintain
their DIY status exclusively or strictly apart from the potential to stop having to “do it themselves.” According to these
research data, musicians often compete in contests and competitions because of their ties to the music industry; rather than
completely resisting the music industry’s role or justifying its
presence, musicians view the competitions as a means to gain
potential professional “work made for hire” opportunities. However, work-for-hire opportunities provided on Indaba Music
have varying rules, depending on each contest. For instance, in
one of the contests, a remix contest for ZZ Ward’s song “365
Days,” the rules indicate the following conditions:
In the event that an Entrant’s Remix cannot be deemed a “work made for
hire,” the Entrant agrees to assign away and transfer any and all rights
in their Remix to Hollywood Records, Inc., or a designee of Hollywood
Records, Inc. Entrants shall have no ownership rights or interest whatsoever in the applicable Remix and the underlying musical composition(s)
embodied therein, and shall not commercially use or exploit the Remix
in any manner whatsoever. (Indaba Music.com)
In another contest, Et Musique Pour Tous, the “entrant shall
own the copyright to their submission” (Indaba Music.com).
10 Chapter 1
Seiter and Seiter (2012) note that in the legal domain, copyrights are often relinquished in the cases in which the clients
for work-for-hire situations are creative producers. On Indaba
Music, although there are contests wherein the musicians still
hold copyrights, other contests that require the entrants to give
up copyrights may be exploitative. However, even if no financial gain may be achieved, musicians often get involved for the
chance to be discovered through their exposure, which serves as
an immaterial exchange value for musicians (Suhr 2012).
The topic of copyright and artists’ compensation in the digital
era is an increasingly alarming issue and undoubtedly requires
serious scrutiny. Given the limited scope of this report, I focus
on the ambiguous and blurred lines between work and play,
analogous to “interest-driven” activities: “Interest-driven genres
of participation characterize engagement with specialized activities, interests, or niche and marginalized identities. In contrast to
friend-driven participation, kids establish relationships that center on their interests, hobbies, and career aspirations rather than
friendship per se” (Ito et al. 2009, xvii). Although this definition is based on youth participation in digital environments, the
essence of these activities extends to all musicians, regardless of
age. The stakes for musicians, however, are high, as the winners
of competitions often receive rewards, the most important being
potential connections to the music industry. To this extent, the
music industry’s involvement in digital environments can be an
undeniably attractive and propelling drive for many musicians
seeking connections. One way to understand this phenomenon
is to view musicians as “cultural entrepreneurs,” echoing Scott’s
(2012) observation:
What motivates these homologous cultural entrepreneurs to engage in
productive activities for minimal or limited financial return is either the
Introduction 11
promise of exposure or the opportunity to engage in activities that are
in line with their career aspirations and identities. These favours are intrinsically interesting and rewarding at an artistic level—affording the
opportunity to help fellow artists, which may initiate what may be a
fruitful and enduring relationship. (238–239)
Another prominent trend tied to cultural entrepreneurship is
the evaluation and judgment of music by the hybrid array of
traditional and emerging cultural intermediaries. Some evaluations are traditional because they are established and controlled
by the music industry’s long-established way of selecting and
discerning potential talent. Other intermediaries are new on the
scene and are operating in tandem with the advancement of
technology through algorithms and social networks (e.g., peer
comments, listening records, and votes). These frameworks are
not unique, but what is innovative is how they are now operating together as one comprehensive mechanism.
Three Views of Music Evaluations
Music evaluations can loosely be categorized into three views.
The first is based on an ethical dimension, broadly discussed
under aesthetics as ethics, or ethestics, by various scholars
in the philosophy of art (N. Carroll 2000; Gaut 1998). Carroll (2000) states that much of this view of aesthetics as ethics was not accepted or embraced in the past. As autonomism
argues, “Artworks … are valuable for their own sake, not because
of their service to ulterior purposes, such as moral enlightenment or improvement” (351). However, in defense of the negative charges made against an ethical framing of aesthetics, Gaut
(1998) notes that “ethicism does not entail the casual thesis that
good art ethically improves people” (183). Despite the controversial outlook on art’s value stemming from ethics, the influential
12 Chapter 1
writings of Adorno and the Frankfurt theorists on the value of
the arts embed this outlook in capitalism. In their seminal essay,
Adorno and Horkheimer (2002) hierarchized art’s value based on
the dichotomy between high and low art. They further argued
that only autonomous art, devoid of capitalistic features, could
empower individual and social progress. In particular, Adorno
has been divisive because of his understanding of the notion
of popular music, which creates a dichotomy between “serious
music” and “nonserious music” (Adorno 1998). For Adorno, formulaic, repetitive, and profit-driven popular music does not further the critical analysis of music but only promotes passive and
regressive listening behavior (Adorno 1978).
An ethical approach to understanding music and aesthetic
tastes intersects with the second perspective related to the evaluation of music, which is based on listeners’ relationships to music.
In short, the question arises here: What does the music listener
experience? Is it qualitatively good or bad? Langer (1966) notes the
interconnection between feelings and aesthetic experience when
she states that “the arts objectify subjective reality, and subjectify
outward experience of nature. Art education is the education of
feeling, and a society that neglects it gives itself up to formless
emotion. Bad art is corruption of feeling” (12). For Langer, the
aesthetic experience one feels can be categorized into the good/
bad dichotomy; good art is supposed to yield good feelings, and
bad art logically produces bad feelings. Therefore the ethical factor is related to the feelings connected with the aesthetic experience. However, for Levinson (1996), the presence of pleasure or
displeasure cannot be a qualified measure of art’s value:
Many artworks unmistakably offer us rewards that do not naturally cash
out as pleasure or enjoyment at any level, rewards that are at least distinct from and independent of any pleasure or enjoyment that may attach to them. (12)
Introduction 13
Echoing the notion of Kant’s (1952) “disinterestedness,” where
pleasure is linked with sensuality and lower forms of aesthetic
experiences, is good music supposed to create displeasure?
Shumway (2008) asserts that values and pleasures are linked to
the judgment of arts and aesthetic quality. However, he further
distinguishes between two types of pleasures: “The way in which
the idea of the aesthetic is most often used is to maintain that
pleasure in beauty is fundamentally different from the pleasures
of the senses, or the ‘lower pleasures’” (107).
Reflecting earlier discussions on the symbiotic relationship
between music and feelings, Frith (1996) also notes how the
assessment and evaluation of music inevitably intersect with
one’s personal feelings about the music.
What’s really at issue is feeling. In the end “bad music” describes an
emotional rather than an ideological judgment. We don’t like a record;
we then seek to account for that dislike. ... Feelings, particularly feelings
of like or dislike—for music, for people—are often surprising, contradictory, and disruptive, they go against what we’re supposed to feel, what
we’d like to feel. (72–73)
This outlook produces a significant binary that we must wrestle
with in the context of music listening. If music somehow provides us a pleasurable experience, then music must be, by nature,
good. However, we still have an unsettling question to answer:
Whose experience matters? Is it the experience of an “authority”
or of the masses? This leads us to the third evaluation method,
based on the dichotomy between quantity versus quality.
The highest recognition in music evaluations in capitalistic
societies has often been considered the concept of “hit” music.
In this view, quantity speaks volumes about a specific song’s or
work’s quality. Within this framework, the more people consume a song, the better its value is deemed to be; therefore the
14 Chapter 1
goal for any song should be to be liked by many individuals.
Adorno, as one of the most outspoken scholars to critique hit
music, defines a hit as commodified music that results from
industrial mass production that seeks to increase profit margins.
Hit music is most incisively critiqued for its standardization
(Adorno 1998), as music becomes imitative of other works that
were previously proved to be successful. However, despite the
argument that the masses may desire familiarity in music, “standardization in radio produces its veil of pseudo-individuality”
(Adorno 1945, 216). In other words, repetition and familiarity
do not exist overtly but are masked by the pretense of originality and uniqueness, thereby creating an illusion that consumers
have a choice: “The less the listener has to choose, the more is
he made to believe that he has a choice” (216).
Considering the music industry’s interest in profitability, the
hit song has been a central aspect across all genres, including
country music (Jaret 1982). Hit music in the commercial music
industry is clearly recognized through the ranking system of the
charts. To this end, the music charts are considered “useful decision support tools that influence the visibility and success of artists, as well as help calculate their financial rewards” (Bhagwan,
Grandison, and Gruhl 2009). As Parker (1991) also notes, “In
theory, the charts define the most popular of popular music, the
goal, the pinnacle of success” (205). While the Billboard chart
epitomizes commercial success, the metric is not without controversy. In the week of January 20, 1990, Billboard magazine
introduced a new system of technology that measured a detailed
profile of listeners (Breen 1990). As Breen sharply pointed out,
this so-called scientific system only “represents the refinement
of the commodification of popular music” (370).
Introduction 15
Research Methods
The primary research method that I used in this study was a
qualitative method including interviews, surveys, and textual
analysis of Spotify and Indaba Music. I chose this methodological approach in support of Belk’s assertion that “mixed methods
are often seen as eclectic, pluralistic, and rejecting traditional
dualism” (Belk 2007, 199).
Although Spotify’s main function is to provide convenient
access to countless music files readily available for streaming,
Spotify also developed many diverse applications (apps) to
engage music listeners in eclectic ways. This report specifically
explores Spotify’s game app Hit or Not as a case study. I gathered the data via textual analysis, involvement as a participantobserver, and sample interviews with other game players of Hit
or Not. The seventeen game players ranged in age from eighteen to fifty-three, and they were recruited in a variety of ways:
invitations on Facebook, visits to Spotify’s Hit or Not fan page
on Facebook (which no longer exists), and the use of a research
assistant’s personal network. The phone interview data collection period lasted approximately eight to nine months. Besides
interviews, this research also includes a textual analysis of the
Hit or Not game and other data pertaining to the game designs
and rules and rewards displayed on the Spotify app.
Indaba Music, on the other hand, is a cloud-based collaboration platform where many contests are held for aspiring and
professional musicians. Musicians earn many different types of
badges, but most prominently through their contest results. For
this study, I explored Indaba Music’s evaluation process and
analyzed musicians’ perceptions of digital badges as conveyors
of honors and prestige. The research was extensive in its scope,
16 Chapter 1
drawing on data from the responses of 255 international participants via a survey created on SurveyMonkey. To generate a
diverse participant pool, my research assistant and I reviewed
the recent contest submissions and contacted the competitors
directly via e-mail with the survey link. The survey used both
open-ended questions and multiple-choice questions. The survey ran from July 2012 to February 2013, and the findings
resulted in more than 130 pages of survey data, supplemented by
data drawn from phone interviews with the five finalists of the
Grammy U: The Masters’ Critique contest, by a textual analysis
of the entire Indaba Music site (including the large comments
sections and discussion forums), and by interviews with the
site’s cofounder and the vice president of content management.
In addition, this study includes in-depth, face-to-face interviews
with twelve New York City–based musicians who are members
of Indaba Music and have also each competed in Indaba Music
contests at least once. The interviews took place between July
2012 and April 2013. Each interview lasted between twenty and
sixty minutes, resulting in lengthy and informative transcripts.
Due to the condensed format of this study, it is important to
note that this report focuses only on select research findings; the
in-depth implications of Indaba Music will need to be elaborated
in another publication.
Chapter Overview
Following this introduction, chapter 2 explores how consumers pursue evaluations in digital environments, focusing on
Spotify’s Hit or Not game. In this chapter, I explore the intersection of evaluation and gamification, seeking to answer the question: How does gamification affect the evaluations, especially
Introduction 17
regarding motivations and rewards? I present an exploratory
study of digital evaluations through interviews with game players, as well as a detailed analysis of the game’s premises, rules,
and rewards. As a whole, the chapter aims to chart and map the
gamification of the evaluation territory.
Chapter 3 concentrates on the development of peer and professional critics on Indaba Music. Musicians earn badges mainly
through winning contests or becoming finalists, runners-up, or
honorable mentions in contests. This chapter illustrates how
earning a badge is not just considered part of the gaming experience. In this vein, I challenge the notion that badges are a simple reward system, and instead focus on a detailed account of
contest procedures, rewards, and judgments within the Indaba
Music environment. A case study of the Grammy U contest was
conducted to understand the winner’s and the finalists’ experiences. I also explore informal learning and in-person critiques
from the music industry professionals. In general, the chapter
evaluates the emerging challenges and shortcomings of contestbased virtual communities.
Chapter 4 examines the potential for badges to represent a
symbol of honor. I explore the evolution of badges on Indaba
Music and explain how badges are perceived by Indaba musicians. As part of the analysis, I further investigate musicians’
motivational levels (intrinsic/extrinsic) and explore the challenges and shortcomings of badges as related to the issue of
access in learning and credentialing institutions.
The final chapter summarizes the outcomes of this study and
theorizes the working definition of digital evaluations. In doing
so, this chapter argues for the need to study the digital evaluation phenomenon across the broad array of creative productions
as they exist in digital environments.
2 Evaluation of Music by Audience: Spotify’s “Hit or
Not” Game
Deciding what music to listen to is a significant part of deciding and
announcing to people not just who you “want to be,” as a Prudential
commercial has it, but who you are.
—Nicholas Cook, Music: A Very Short Introduction
Introduction
The practice of earning badges in game-centered websites has
been on the rise. As Hamari and Eranti (2011) observe, the phenomenon of badges and trophies as a reward system in gaming
environments has received little scholarly attention; similarly,
academic research on the gamification of music evaluation hardly
exists. To help remedy this shortcoming, this chapter conducts
an exploratory study of one emerging music evaluation app, Spotify’s Hit or Not game. Spotify is a digital music site where users
can access millions of songs instantly. The site was founded in
Sweden in October 2008 by Daniel Ek. To date, the service reportedly has more than 24 million users in twenty-eight different
countries (Spotify). One noteworthy aspect of Spotify’s service is
its motto, Music Is Social. As an extension of this motto, Spotify
has created a variety of applications to stimulate the interests of
20 Chapter 2
music listeners. This chapter strives to analyze the implications
of gamifying music evaluation by exploring (1) how game players’ motivation to gain points and badges affect their music evaluation process, and consequently, (2) how such motivations or
the lack thereof relate to the shaping collective music standards.
In addition, this study addresses to what extent learning about
others’ tastes in music affect their personal preferences. In line
with this focus, this chapter also overviews the specific context
in which Spotify’s streaming service dovetails with the shift that
has taken place in audience consumption.
Reconceptualizing the Role of Audiences in the Digital Age
According to Frith (1996), at the beginning of the nineteenth
century, good music was produced for its own sake and thus
was autonomous from audience response. Subsequently critics
were necessary to play the role of experts, “who can explain the
music to the public, teach it how to listen” (64). Thus the gap
between musicians and listeners widened, and critics valorized
new and original music (Frith 1996, 65). With the emergence of
commodity culture, Frith notes that this dynamic shifted a little;
while mediation was still critical, the mass audiences’ responses
and reactions were more valued. In the digital era, the relationship between musicians and audiences has continued to hold
tremendous value, although the new challenge is to track their
preferences to help overcome audience fragmentation (Wikstrom 2010). Tied to this trend, the emergence of audience evaluation has become an integral part of digital environments.
An understanding of this new music industry model in the
digital economy is critical in this context. Anderson (2014) notes
that in the first decade of the twenty-first century, the extensive
Evaluation of Music by Audience 21
practice of piracy has transitioned to the legal downloading
business. Tschmuck (2012) explains that before the launch of
the iTunes music store in 2003, online services struggled owing
to a lack of investment and licensed repertoire (191). However,
soon after the birth of iTunes, other online retail stores emerged,
such as Amazon.com in 2007 and Google Music in 2011. During
this time, music streaming services were also on the rise and in
direct competition with downloading services (Tschmuck 2012).
According to Anderson (2014), while physical and digital sales
have a common priority of making profit, the key difference is
that digital services rely on “recommendation engines and social
network engines” as their main driving force (64). To this end,
the music industry—Spotify, Pandora, and iTunes—views audiences as the end users: “an actor that is essential to the formation, operation and sustenance of digital formations networks”
(15). Anderson explains that “as third-party brokers, these networks that purchase and digest the information captured by
these tools and services are key to structuring a significant portion of the new music industry” (28). This reconceptualization
of audiences is important to consider, as it allows Spotify’s game
to be located within this specific cultural and economic climate.
Hit or Not
Given previous discussions, the primary way to understand the
Hit or Not game (whose playlist is limited to the Warner Music
Group music catalog) is to consider it as a new type of market research 2.0, encouraging interactivity and playful activity
for participants while also serving as a new way to understand
and predict consumers’ likes, dislikes, and potential taste shifts.
Upon opening Spotify’s game app, players are given a consent
22 Chapter 2
box for agreement. The consent box states that the app “relies
on the awesomeness of your collected votes to run smoothly.” It
clearly states the objectives of the game: “(1) making your voice
heard regarding what music is hot and what is not; (2) getting
points for your votes and receiving awesome badges; (3) competing with your friends” (Spotify, Hit or Not). Users have to consent to the following terms:
I understand that when I log into my Hit or Not account below, Hit or
Not will be able to associate information about my Spotify use, such as
library and listening history, with my Hit or Not account. Hit or Not’s
collection and use of this information will be governed by the WMG
Privacy Policy. (Spotify, Hit or Not)
This statement sums up an obvious function of the game,
namely, to serve as a digital surveillance tool to monitor users’
preferences.
Hit or Not divides its songs into three broad genres: Party,
Rock, and Urban. There is also an “All” category that lumps
together these three genres. Audience evaluators can choose to
play the game in a specific category, but the default setting is the
“All” category. Negus (1999), in noting the importance of genres
in the music industry, asserts that the demarcation of musical
genres goes far beyond the mere categories of rap, pop, jazz, soul,
rock, and so on. Rather, the genre concept serves as a way to cater
to fans: “Fans are central to the production, reproduction, and circulation of numerous genres of music” (Negus 1999, 127). With
the rise of online retailers and streaming services, Anderson notes
that genres still serve as a viable tool to reach out to audiences,
but notes that “the difference for iTunes and other digital services
such as Amazon and Google that have established digital music
retailers is that as they funnel their goods through genre categories the service accumulates data on their users” (70).
Besides probing the motives of the game from the online
streaming service’s point of view, we should ask how the game
is understood by the game players themselves. Do they gain anything by playing the game, apart from the seemingly obvious reasons of sheer entertainment and playful activity? By motivating
users to gain “badges” and allowing users to compete with one
another, the game relies on the competitive aspect to disseminate
musical preferences. To some extent, the game tests whether or
not the game player has the ability to discern the “hit” factor.
This aspect about the game caused much confusion among the
game players. Participant 7 specifically expressed his frustration:
It’s confusing. ... At first I thought ... “Hey I should learn a little bit more
about what kind of music that people really like in this market or among
the Spotify users.” Then the second time that I played this game or the
third time that I played this game, it’s so weird that all the songs were
not “Hits.” You know it’s not on the “Hit List.” All of them? All of them.
I played about 15–20 minutes all of them, maybe one or two it was on
the “Hit List.” I thought it was among people who played the same time.
I do not know. To me at this point, if I play a little bit more or I spend
more time with it and understand how the game is constructed a little
bit better then I would be able to say anything. At this point, I think I’m
a little confused.
Regardless of the game’s actual intent, all the participants I talked
to played according to their own personal musical preferences,
not according to the explicit rules of the game. Participant 1
mentioned that he played the game based on his “own reaction
to the music, whether or not it’s a hit.” Other participants also
confirmed this view. Participant 1 expressed his confusion about
the game and said he was “disappointed in the app.” A similar
reply was given by Participant 6, who thought that the possible
underlying motive of the game was simply market research disguised as a playful, fun game:
24 Chapter 2
I really resented that what they were doing was market research and
they were trying to disguise it as something that I would think is fun. I
was offended by their whole attitude in this “game” that really wasn’t
fun. They were just trying to get information out of me. A lot of times
when I would listen I was trying to think of ways to sabotage their information. I was thinking, okay, if I say I like this group that I’m not
supposed to like because of my previous answers, or my demographic.
That will screw up their information.
Participant 2 further expressed his personal view that the game
was “a cynical corporate tool.”
I was offended when it was set up like you got more points if you guessed
what everyone else guessed. If you went along with the crowd, you went
along with popular opinion, then you were good and you were awarded.
If you had your own opinion, you were alone in it. They were like, “Oh,
sorry. You didn’t agree with everybody else.”
Similarly, Participant 8 expressed confusion: “I don’t know why
I’m being rewarded for guessing what everyone else likes, getting
more points. I always guess what I like.”
Although several participants related the game’s purpose to
market research and advertising, Participant 3 believed that the
game “keeps one toward people’s musical preferences.” While all
the participants who had played the game concurred that they
did so according to their own penchants, one could potentially
wonder if the game can affect the players’ tastes as they learn
about mass tastes, especially in light of gamification.
Gamifying Music Evaluation
According to Kapp (2012), gamification is not just about gaining
points and badges:
Those things are elements of most games, and among the easier to
implement, but those things alone do not [make] a game. The more
challenging and beneficial aspects to gamification include the story, the
challenge, the sense of control, decision making and a sense of mastery—these are the elements of games that are of the most value. (xviii)
While Hit or Not can be challenging and confusing to the users,
one of the aspects that deserves to be explored is how gamification intersects with evaluation. Research on the intersection
between gamification and learning has already been conducted
by a variety of scholars (Muntean 2011; Raymer and Design
2011; Domínguez et al. 2013).
At this juncture, it is useful to ask how gamification affects
the process of evaluation. The game players receive points and
badges along the way. Each time a player guesses a song’s hit
viability, he or she earns points based on the percentage of players who have labeled a song a “hit” versus “not a hit.” If one’s
assessment of a hit aligns with the majority of other players, one
receives more points.
Badges are awarded throughout the game: First Point, On
Your Way, Fresh Bread, Hipster Glasses, Tastemaker, One Hit
Wonder, Pacemaker, Hit Predictor, On Fire, and so on. The
use of badges as a way to reward game players is not new, and
recent research has explored the intrinsic and extrinsic motivations related to the awarding of badges (Abramovich, Schunn,
and Higashi 2013). Specifically, McDaniel, Lindgren, and Friskics (2012) explore the process of using a badging strategy in a
gamified course at a visual arts and design school (University of
Central Florida). The authors highlight different types of behavior associated with students’ motivations to acquire badges and
to engage in learning activities. Overall, the authors note that
seeing peer achievements was an important motivator. Contrary
to the previous research findings on badges and gamification in
the context of education, evaluation games such as Hit or Not
actually confront different issues.
26 Chapter 2
For instance, if predicting the hit factor is rewarded, how does
this relate to the manner in which evaluations are conducted?
How do the badges motivate the players in this game? If acquiring badges is an important goal, do the badges motivate the
players to align their tastes with hit music? Furthermore, how
can the evaluation of musical tastes be considered right or wrong
in the context of Hit or Not? To address this question, I asked the
game players about their motivational level during the game.
According to my interviewees, the badges did not motivate them
to win or perform well while playing the game. In fact, many of
them found the badges to be meaningless.
You know, as somebody who has played a lot of video games, it’s nice,
it’s almost like a reward, but at the same time, they are kind of useless.
That’s like a, “Cool, I got that, but then that’s it.” It’s like one second of
feeling good but then after that it’s irrelevant. Some of the crazier ones,
like if it’s a very specific badge, that carries a little bit more meaning
because then you can go to your friend and say, “Ah, I got this badge.”
But other than that, no, they don’t really do that much. (Participant 5)
Participant 5 further noted that the reason there is a lack of motivation or desire for acquiring badges was that the site users could
not see or anticipate the types of badges available before playing.
I guess there’s no motivation to earn a badge; the badge just comes,
and it’s like, “Cool, I got a badge for it.” There’s never any, because you
don’t really get to see what the badges are that you are trying to earn. In
some other games, you do; you can see what badges you want to try to
earn, and sometimes they are pretty incredible challenges that you try
at—you do have motivation to tackle those challenges just because of
how insane they are. But most of the time it’s just kind of like—it just
presents it to you after the fact, and you don’t really notice that they’ve
earned it or are trying to accomplish those badges. It’s just like, “Oh, you
did it, and now you get a badge.” (Participant 5)
Another motivational factor in the game is competition. The
game allows players to compare their points with their Facebook
friends who have also played. The players are ranked in order,
with the top ranked having the most points.
However, this aspect of the game did not seem to inspire
the players to be more competitive. Both participants 6 and 7
replied that although they are very competitive individuals, in
this particular game, earning points did not matter a great deal
to them. Participant 6 added that he played “to find music, new
music [he] likes, or maybe oldies music that [he has] forgotten
about. In this case, the score isn’t so important.” Participant 9,
however, noted that he was competitive about the game, but
he remained adamant that playing it did not change or affect
his personal tastes in music. Participant 17 claimed, “I just want
to see what other opinions actually end up being as opposed to
mine.” Participant 2 also maintained the pointlessness of winning the game and further stated that he did not make any effort
to win. Participant 4, however, claimed that although at first she
was not motivated to score points and earn badges, as she “got
into the game, [she] became more motivated to do that.” As can
be seen, these players’ evaluation processes were not necessarily
motivated by their desire to win but were mainly linked to their
discernment of their own tastes and judgments related to music.
Most of the players were distracted by how their musical taste
aligned with the tastes of other players, and they focused little
on which songs were potential hits. To this extent, encouraging
the players to align their tastes with hit music did not influence
the players. Yet what primarily affected their evaluation process
was the negotiation between their own tastes and those of the
others who played the game.
28 Chapter 2
My Musical Tastes versus Others’ Preferences
Given that the underlying premise of the game centered on a
comparison of the players’ taste preferences, it is important to
further expound on how players in general view their own musical taste formation. The fields of social psychology and sociology have analyzed how personal preferences are shaped through
close social networks and how they function as representations
of self-identity.
Frith (1996) notes that “music constructs our sense of identity through the experiences it offers of the body, time, and
sociability, experiences which enable us to place ourselves in
imaginative cultural narratives” (275). Other scholars have also
explored how personality and musical preferences relate to one
another (Chamorro-Premuzic and Furnham 2007; Payne 1967;
Hargreaves, Miell, and MacDonald 2002). Although this chapter
does not cover the entire literature on this issue, several important research outcomes are pertinent to this study. In particular,
Rentfrow and Gosling (2006) argue that there is a clear intersection between recognized groups of people in relation to their
musical preferences. In a similar vein of research, young people
clearly express their identities through the use of music (Rentfrow, McDonald, and Oldmeadow 2009). “Individuals prefer
styles of music that reinforce and reflect aspects of their identities and personalities” (Rentfrow et al. 2009). Nonetheless
shared musical tastes may not always yield positive outcomes,
since these tastes can be a factor in misjudging (or stereotyping)
others, especially among young people (Finnas 1987).
Most notably the discipline of sociology, Bourdieu’s research
on social class and cultural tastes comes to the fore. In dismissing Kantian aesthetics and their basis in the domain of
“disinterestedness,” Bourdieu (1984) argues that, rather than
being universal in nature, cultural tastes are socially constructed
and reflected through class hierarchy. He further discusses three
different types of cultural tastes: the highbrow culture of the
dominant class; the middlebrow taste, which reflects the middle class or petite bourgeoisie; and finally popular taste, which
characterizes the lower classes. For Bourdieu, these distinctions
are a critical way in which members of different classes distinguish themselves from other social groups by disassociating or
opposing those tastes. However, understanding tastes is more
complex than factors that only consider external backgrounds,
that is, socioeconomic status or education levels. Holbrook and
Schindler (1989) and Russell (1997) in particular observe how a
variety of social influences, such as media, education, and family and peer networks, impact the formation of musical tastes; to
this extent, he argues that musical tastes do not develop in an
isolated context.
To make the matter even more complex, the individual’s psychological or social background as related to taste is only one
of the many approaches within the social sciences for studying
musical and aesthetic tastes. Increasingly, many social media
platforms allow individuals to publicly share information, photos, and other digital contents; these environments have created
an emerging digital media culture where people are filling a new
type of curatorial role (Hogan 2010).
A more specific example of this new digital behavior is the
functioning of social media profiles as taste performances (Liu
2008). Given the diverse perspectives linked to musical tastes
in relation to self-identity and external influences, it is worthwhile to further expound on how learning about other people’s
popular music preferences in digital environments has changed
30 Chapter 2
or affected the individual evaluation process. Upon posing these
lines of inquiry, the majority of the survey participants gave
definitive, short replies that others’ opinions did not change
their tastes in music even when they learned that others’ tastes
differed from theirs. A few participants elaborated on their
responses:
“I mean, I like to listen to popular music at times just to get,
just be updated, I guess, just to kind of understand what is popular, but it doesn’t affect my taste at all, no” (Participant 5). “I
often don’t like the mainstream kind of music, so I have always
been outside in that way” (Participant 6). In short, their answers
seem to distance “popular music” as something not innately
enjoyed but rather as “the other.” Although class is not one of
the factors explored in this study, many participants prefer to
think of themselves as apart from, and more selective than, an
imagined less-sophisticated “pop music” listener.
Learning about One’s Musical Tastes: Reflexivity
According to Papastergiou (2009), “Games constitute potentially
powerful learning environments” (1). To this extent, what do
game players learn? The game players I interviewed noted that
many of their tastes in music surprised them in comparison to
others. Although participants did not view the game in terms of
a traditional learning experience, much of the learning that took
place in the game was informal as it relates to what Hennion
(2007) calls reflexive activity. Listening is essentially a self-reflexive activity that allows listeners to learn about their own tastes in
music. Hennion explains that music lovers are often apologetic
and ashamed of their musical tastes, or they “accuse themselves
of a practice that is too elitist, over-admit the ritual nature of
their rock outings or love for opera” (5). Overall, in observing
discourses about individual musical tastes, he notes how people
are “so sociologized” (5). This view is interesting in light of how
the players of Hit or Not discussed their musical tastes in relation to others. In this reflexive activity, listeners often position
their views as either mainstream or nonmainstream, reflecting
a socially constructed view of understanding taste. Participant
3, with whom I conducted an in-person interview, noted that
playing the game “makes [him] realize that perhaps [his] musical taste is not as mainstream as what most people like. … Perhaps my playlist does not have a lot of mainstream music that
the normal, the average Joe, will have on their playlist. That’s
what it made me conscious of.” Much of this point echoes Bourdieu’s operation of distinctions whereby he argued that people
were in fear of being ordinary; although this participant did not
particularly express pride in his tastes, it was clear that his own
reflections allowed him to construct his identity as being different from others.
Another aspect of the game involved learning about what one
liked, independent of others’ tastes. In other words, the game
functioned as a way to discover what music one liked and disliked, and at the end of the game, the website automatically
saved the music one liked and created a playlist at the bottom of
the game. As Participant 1 stated, “No more or less, I feel like I
can find out about different music through it as well.”
In addition to determining one’s musical preferences, participants also mentioned that the game was a new means to discover music that they may not have been exposed to otherwise.
Learned anything? I’m not sure I can say that I learned anything. I may
have; some music has come to my attention that I would like to give a
listen to. I guess that counts as learning. So learning about other artists,
32 Chapter 2
or becoming aware of other artists and certain songs that came across
the Hit or Not game, yes, I would say. (Participant 4)
Clearly, Hit or Not functions as a marketing and promotional
tool for Warner Music Group artists, as participants are being
introduced to WMG albums through this interactive game.
A minor discrepancy and confusion existed when several participants mentioned that some of the songs that were considered
“hits” in previous years were not considered hits by today’s game
players. Participants who were old enough to recall music from
the previous decades applied their own knowledge of hit music
from a factual standpoint rather than playing the game based on
their own tastes. One woman, who had played the game while
her daughter passively observed, noted how some people who
played the game have recreated the musical standard in terms
of the hit factor.
For instance, my daughter was staying there going, “Well, that’s a hit,”
even though it said it wasn’t. A lot of the songs were hits a long time
ago, in their day when they were a hit, but it said they weren’t. I don’t
think it was really true, but it depends on who’s listening to it, though.
(Participant 12)
Another participant also stated that he was confused by how tastes
were conceived differently according to different time periods:
What’s confusing about the game is there are tunes that they play that
are hits that people don’t like, that are scored not a hit. Basically I know
that because of my experience, I know that the song was a Top 40 hit in
1999 or whatever. … The game really isn’t realistic. (Participant 9)
Participant 3 echoed this point:
A lot of the more younger generation I think modify rather than some of
the old school people. When you come across Ray of Light by Madonna,
and it was very popular back when it was released in 1998. It reached
number five on the Billboard chart. It was not popular [in the game].
Maybe the people that did not rate that popular, maybe they’re more
into Lady Gaga. If there’s a Lady Gaga, Madonna. Maybe they’re more
into the mainstream but now, whereas Madonna is not as mainstream
as she was back then. It could be that a more progressive, younger generation that was not really exposed to 1998 Madonna, was rating it low.
Whereas maybe the percentage of the country that liked Ray of Light
maybe were older Spotify users.
In this context, the game has shed new light, to some users, on
the transient nature of music’s popularity as it relates to historical and cultural time periods. Simultaneously, the game showed
potential through the reevaluation efforts of the players. In this
process, the game defies past songs’ perceived popularity and
operates through collectively re-creating the musical tastes and
values of the present time.
Discussion
Drawing on these exploratory findings, three emerging themes
were noteworthy in understanding the game’s purpose, uses,
and further implications as they relate to the evaluation process:
(1) the new type of market research and advertising, (2) the gamification of evaluation, and (3) learning about personal versus
collective tastes in music. While we may need more substantive
empirical data to draw a solid conclusion, as far as the findings
from this study are concerned, the music evaluation methods
are flawed and problematic on several grounds. There is a potential danger in this evaluation game in influencing evaluators to
adopt a certain type of assessment criteria: instead of recognizing a variety of ways in which music can be experienced, appreciated, and liked, the game imposes only one way to evaluate
music. Is a song a hit or not? Furthermore, the music evaluation
game runs on the logic of gamification, but this creates conflicts
34 Chapter 2
of interests. According to Nicholson (2012), “The underlying
concept of gamification is motivation” (1). If the players are
motivated to win, this goal may potentially skew the evaluation
process, because game players are rewarded for guessing hit songs
regardless of how one evaluates the game. However, because the
players noted that they were not motivated to win, despite the
flawed rationale behind the evaluation game, the evaluation surprisingly did not result in any skewed or misleading judgments.
Rather, the leading factors in the evaluation process were personal opinions about a particular song and the players’ guesses
in alignment or opposition with others’ predictions.
While it would be easy to view the game as a reinforcement
of the capitalistic ethos, one of the game’s unique features is its
potential to re-create various standards of music or popularity by
the select participants. The puzzlement that some users expressed
about previous hit music being considered unpopular has several
implications. On the one hand, the game shows that most songs’
popularity is transient, although some songs are considered “classics.” This status may have more to do with the social and cultural imposition of a song becoming “classic” than with listeners’
ongoing preferences regardless of generation and age. Furthermore, tastes are clearly shaped in relation to the time period and
sentiments of a specific era. To this extent, there is room to exercise human agency and empowerment, even in a seemingly problematic and flawed evaluation game such as this one.
Finally, the social psychological dimension was noteworthy.
While keeping in mind that this research is a pilot study, the findings from the interviewees’ comments indicate that hardly any
participants were affected or influenced by others’ musical tastes,
unlike previous research findings that reflect a symbiosis between
social and peers’ influence and the shaping of musical standard.
Limitations and Future Research Directions
Although the seventeen survey participants’ contributions to
my study were invaluable in providing preliminary insights on
emerging issues, further research should explore a variety of
issues presented here. The participants for this research were all
adults, eighteen and older; it would be interesting to analyze the
potentially different experiences of a younger audience group.
The same point was also echoed by Participant 2 in noting how
the game encouraged young people to be competitive:
Yeah, I think younger … maybe like an eight-year-old would be interested in that kind of competition. I don’t think an adult would be like,
“Hey, I’m ahead of you on Hit or Not today.” It’s weird. The page just
came up and … I know I had points, but I’m down to zero points. I don’t
know if they wipe the points off when they changed the name to Hit
or Not.
If this game could potentially motivate and entertain young
players, it would be worthwhile to examine how young players
might approach the game. Given a strong correlation between
youth peer pressure and connections with music and identity formation (Selfhout, Branje, ter Bogt, and Meeus 2009),
the implications of the game may be more alarming if this age
group’s musical tastes are heavily affected by their peers and a
desire to “fit in.”
Another limitation in the study was the length of playing
time, which was approximately thirty minutes for new users
who had never played the game before. It is unclear whether the
participants actually spent thirty minutes playing, as this could
not be checked or verified. Furthermore, although a minimum of
thirty minutes was supposedly sufficient to get acquainted with
the game, many people still showed confusion. The research
36 Chapter 2
outcomes might have differed if the participants had played the
game longer. For this reason, a longitudinal study could be of
value to discern the impact of the game on the individual formation of musical tastes and evaluation standards. Does playing
the game over a long-term period shift one’s evaluation standards in music? If so, how?
A lack of interest in the game overall could also serve as a limitation. Hit or Not is not yet a prominent cultural phenomenon
by any means. It may be a fleeting, experimental application,
although, according to the 2013 Digital Music Report, Spotify
is a rapidly growing streaming site worldwide and is touted as
having the most potential to grow (IFPI 2013). In this context,
the trajectory of the game’s future could go either way; it may
become more prominent or die sooner than expected. The Facebook Hit or Not page has disappeared, and this development
may foreshadow this application’s demise, indicating that the
game may not have met the expectations of Spotify and Warner
Music Group.
Finally, the findings for this study are all based on self-reporting, and we cannot ignore the aspect that there can be personal
bias since these individuals may not want to admit that they are
easily influenced by others; thus, future research should take into
consideration ways to mitigate potential bias created by the users.
Overall, taking into account an in-depth analysis of the
game’s motivations, underlying premises, and reward system, as
well as the participants’ in-depth interviews, we can characterize
this evaluation game as an ironic juxtaposition of simplicity and
complexity. Although the game is one-dimensional and overly
simple, the underlying motives and logistics of the game and its
rewards are layered in ideological, sociological, historical, and
personal contexts.
3 Evaluations of Music by Peers and Professionals on
Indaba Music
Introduction
Music evaluations have often been fraught with controversy.
Inasmuch as generating a consensus about music’s value and
quality has been challenging and contentious, the various methods, criteria, and standards related to music’s qualitative value
have been underexplored, if not generally ignored, in the discipline of cultural studies.
Echoing this observation, Frith (1996) notes that “the importance of value judgment for popular culture … seems obvious,
but it has been quite neglected in academic cultural studies” (8).
This neglect deserves to be studied more carefully because, with
the rise of digital media, the evaluation methods for music are
constantly evolving. For instance, during Myspace’s heyday,
the number of “friends” that musicians had on their profiles
undoubtedly played a dominant role in launching the professional careers of various popular music artists (Suhr 2012). Other
sites, such as YouTube, continue to be forceful factors in musicians’ careers, since the value of musicians is often determined
by the number of views their videos receive. Despite some concerns about the impact of music contests on the productivity
38 Chapter 3
and value of music (Miller 1994), competitions and contests are
ubiquitous in digital environments, where they influence the
rankings and hierarchies connected with the value and popularity of works produced by both amateur and professional musicians. Overall, digital environments have become a contested
terrain, echoing Warf and Grimes’s (1997) view that “the Internet is neither inherently oppressive nor automatically emancipatory; it is a terrain of contested philosophies and politics”
(259). In this context, the goal of this chapter is to unpack the
shifting landscape of music evaluation in the digital era by focusing on musicians’ general views of peer assessments, voting, and
experts’ criticism on Indaba Music.
Indaba Music
Indaba Music launched its website in 2007, and as of 2014, this
online community boasts more than eight hundred thousand
musician members. As a for-profit company, Indaba Music currently offers three types of memberships. A basic membership
allows musicians to enter three opportunities per year for free
and comes with 200 MB of storage, while a pro membership,
$5 a month, grants five opportunities per month and 5 GB of
storage. For $25 a month, the platinum membership provides
unlimited opportunities and 50 GB of storage. On its Creative
Commons blog, Indaba Music explains that artists can choose
either to reserve all rights or to sign a Creative Commons license,
which gives permission for specified uses of their work by others
(Parkins 2008).
Shortly after the birth of Indaba Music, the site held many
contests that involved remixing already established popular
musicians’ new releases. A survey of Indaba Music’s contest
Evaluations of Music by Peers and Professionals 39
archives from 2012 to 2013 reveals that its contests quickly
proliferated, and now there are many new types of contests on
the site. While remix contests continue to be prominent, other
types of unique opportunities range from educational to strictly
work-for-hire situations that provide music for particular genres
or soundtracks for varieties of media. In return, contest winners
received monetary rewards and different types of exposure.
For instance, contests such as Et Musique Pour Tous generate
opportunities to interact with new types of cultural intermediaries. According to the Indaba Music site, “Et Musique Pour Tous is
a music and culture blog dedicated to quality, not traffic. It has
built a reputation as being influential amongst music supervisors
and other tastemakers.” To this end, the reward was additional
exposure, which served as a seal of approval, to some extent. Similarly, the Electronica Oasis contest asked musicians to submit
original electronic dance music for the opportunity to be interviewed and featured on the popular Electronica Oasis music blog.
The blog boasts thousands of visitors a month, and Indaba Music
noted that the site has “become a go-to destination for electronic
dance music lovers to get their fix.” In March 2013, Artist Search
gave its winner the opportunity to have Indaba Music produce
a record. The Emerging Artist contest awarded the chosen musician with studio time in either Los Angeles or New York City and
gear from the Blue Microphones. In addition, Music Xray invited
musicians to submit music for evaluation by the music industry
in terms of potential fan appeal. Thus far, I have highlighted only
select examples to showcase how widely varied the contests are
on Indaba Music, but note that as many as twenty-nine contests
may be going on within a given month.
Not only has the number of contests increased, but some
offer opportunities for professional development with industry
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insiders, such as Grammy U: The Masters’ Critique. This contest was unique in that the contest finalists had the opportunity to meet industry professionals in person to gain advice and
feedback on their music; in a sense, the competition operated
as a professional career coaching session. With a focus on the
expanding scope of Indaba Music’s contests, the next section
analyzes the emergence of peer assessments, as well as professional industry critics, and how these may potentially aid and
hinder informal learning experiences for musicians.
Evaluations, Rating, and Ranking on Indaba Music
The effort to distinguish and rank musicians has not diminished
since the heyday of the Billboard charts and rankings, but the
metric has been reconfigured for social media. A case in point is
the inclusion of YouTube ranking in the Billboard charts (Sisario 2013), as well as the introduction of the Social 50 chart that
tracks popularity emerging from social media (Billboard.com).
Although it no longer exists, BBC’s Sound Index used to be a
comprehensive evaluation mechanism that accounted for multiple types of data, such as the number of listens, plays, downloads, sales, and comments (Bhagwan et al. 2009).
As such, the evaluation mechanisms in social media have
adopted the format of the charts from the mainstream industry.
The need to order and rank music online is imperative owing to
the decentralized nature of digital environments. No longer can
one consider music produced online as only amateur or leisure
productions, since many of these activities are pursued by amateurs on the verge of becoming professionals. To this extent, digital environments hold enormous power in the ordering process
that prioritizes musicians into a newly emerging hierarchy. One
of the ways in which this organization takes place is through
contests. Yet unlike other formats of social media charts, where
the criteria are often based on a simple measure of views, plays,
likes, or friends, Indaba Music’s system is slightly different, as the
site allows winners to be selected by industry or genre experts,
while peers, along with algorithms, play the role of gatekeepers
before the final outcome. To further contextualize the Indaba
Music community’s evaluation systems, the concept of cultural
intermediaries needs to be explored.
The Emergence of Peer and Professional Critics
In digital environments, newly emerging cultural intermediaries include a variety of people. Unlike the previous category of
cultural intermediaries (i.e., the mass consumers who stepped
in to raise popularity and recognitions), the activities of professional critics collide with peer opinions on Indaba Music. Negus
(2002) first recognized the expanding scope of cultural intermediaries, and today Indaba Music proves that evaluations are no
longer being generated solely by select people of influence and
power but are being produced by four different types of people:
professionals, peers, cultural producers’ personal networks, and
everyday consumers.
In a similar vein, Lieb (2013) discusses the role of niche gatekeepers, who exist “in the form of bloggers, podcasters, Facebook
friends, and song and album recommenders on iTunes and Amazon” (79). Lieb notes that despite these newly emerging gatekeepers, “conventional music industry gatekeepers are still abundant
and powerful in the role of building and popularizing artists and
music” (79). Much of this claim is true. Although Indaba Music
specifically includes the peer critic as part of its group of cultural
42 Chapter 3
intermediaries, the primary attraction to the site and its contests
is potential connections with the traditional gatekeepers in the
music industry, according to survey participants.
Lieb (2013) further elaborates on the emergence of cultural
intermediaries, from both the production and the consumption sides. On the consumption side, the gatekeepers include
radio station owners, programmers, and television station and
film owners and producers. It is noteworthy that previously
gatekeepers influenced the type of music that consumers were
exposed to through a tight control of access as arbitrated by A&R
and business executives (Frith 2000). However, in the digital era,
consumers increasingly seek their own gatekeepers, individuals
whom they trust on social networking sites and music sites:
[The] new niche of gatekeepers has the potential to dilute the power of
the traditional gatekeepers by showing artists that there are new ways
of attracting a following and becoming popular without them. But still,
those interviewed could not come up with examples of significant artists who had broken big without the support of traditional gatekeepers,
which itself is telling data. (Lieb 2013, 80)
As revealed by Lieb, in the digital era, niche cultural intermediaries and traditional cultural intermediaries are acting not
independently but collaboratively. Given that commercial success (as in “breaking big”) is still ultimately aided by conventional gatekeepers, the older power structures persist. This is a
critical point to remember, since the intricate interplay between
the traditional gatekeepers and niche gatekeepers inevitably
has symbiotic effects, although different interests are at stake
(i.e., for mainstream artists, the promotion and marketing of
new releases from the labels; on the other hand, grassroots artists seek opportunities for work and exposure). To this end, it is
not surprising that a site like Indaba Music attracts musicians,
as many opportunities center on collaboration with a variety of
traditional and niche gatekeepers. While traditional gatekeepers
are present, Indaba Music mainly operates as a niche gatekeeper.
With this idea in mind, I would like to demarcate another category of “subniche gatekeepers,” comprising peer critics on music
websites. In the case of Indaba Music, the subniche gatekeepers
are the musicians who compete on the site while also serving as
initial gatekeepers for other users, driving much of the traffic to
the site and creating buzz.
In my previous research on Indaba Music, I explored the
Yo-Yo Ma contest as a case study; one of the prominent themes
related to that contest was the problematic voting system among
contestants (Suhr 2012). Now, a few years later, Indaba Music’s
contests continue to face the same problem in regard to voting
and popularity. While my previous research data were gathered
by conducting a textual analysis of the discussion forum on the
actual content site, this study incorporates surveys from 255 participants, nonexclusive to any particular contest, and includes
interviews and a textual analysis of Indaba Music’s massive contest archives (but with particular attention to 2012 and 2013).
In light of this study, I have explored the mixed responses about
peer assessments.
Peer Assessments and Informal Critiques on Indaba Music
While Indaba Music’s finalists are chosen by a rotating panel of
select judges (often professionals in the music industry or Indaba
Music staff), peer assessments are also an integral part of the contests. Understanding how peers assess one another’s work has
long been an interest of music education researchers (Blom and
Poole 2004; Hunter 1999; Lebler 2008). The benefits of learning
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from other peers have been studied, in particular, by Jones and
King (2009), who illustrate how this can be achieved in a recording studio through “surrogate teaching” and “proctoring.”
Increasingly, social media platforms and new media technologies for alternative music pedagogy have attracted the interest
of music educators and researchers alike (Rudolph and Frankel
2009; Chong 2011; Ruthmann 2007; Waldron and Veblen 2008).
For Burnard (2007), “technologically mediated music making can shake the most cherished practices of classroom music
teachers—but on the other hand, it can generate the desire to
(and ways in which to) diversify existing pedagogical practice”
(39). In this vein, previous studies focused on the characteristics of amateur criticism of YouTube music performances (Suhr
2008) and on the nature of YouTube music video commenting
(Thelwall, Sud, and Vis 2012). These studies show how digital
platforms can be active places for discussing musical quality and
performances, for expressing personal tastes, and for reviewing
performances in an informal context. Although these platforms
are limited in space and are rarely influential beyond the websites themselves, they are useful places for music listeners to
exercise their informal critiques and to share their tastes. Other
platforms also exist, and they elevate the informal critique to a
professional context, one that is significant to music industry
insiders.
Despite strengths in peer mentoring and a variety of ways
in which informal criticisms are practiced on social networking
sites, peer assessments in the context of reputation mechanisms
raise concern. Marti and Garcia-Molina (2006) posit that peerto-peer reputation systems include the consideration of incentives and punishment, and Papaioannou and Stamoulis (2006)
focus on the issue of exploiting reputations: “It appears that a
high-performing peer is thus unfairly ‘punished’” (565). In noting this bias and inequality, the authors problematize how these
“incentives lead to a market of ‘lemons’ and possibly to the gradual collapse of the peer to peer system” (565).
Similar trends were also noted on Indaba Music regarding
the influence of peers in building one’s reputation. Although
the voting procedures do not determine the winners, voting has
some merit, since through this process, musicians gain additional exposure during the contests and may end up receiving
honorable mentions. It is noteworthy that ascribing value takes
place through hype generated within the community. Musicians
often describe the problematic nature of peer assessment. One
user, who had been received positively during a contest, also
pointed out the bias during the judgment process:
As an individual who has received Honorable Mentions and success on
the Indaba website, I can say without bias that the tracks on this site
which receive the most acknowledgement are not the deserving tracks,
but the ones that are marketed the most sufficiently. Also the winners
are chosen not by trained judges who base their opinions and decisions
on multiple sets of established criteria, but merely the subjective opinion of the artist who is the Judge for each particular contest. (Indaba
survey)
In addition to the issue of voting and tireless marketing, the
commentator noted the role played by arbitrary taste in determining the winners.
On Indaba Music, the system by which musicians are ranked
is based on multiple measurements, such as how many peers
have taken interest in listening to and critiquing fellow contestants. Any Indaba member can listen, comment, and provide
feedback. Nonetheless, contrary to the common belief that
feedback on music by peer musicians should be helpful, many
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musicians stated that feedback was only a means to an end, not
an end unto itself. In short, positive feedback was given with
the expectation of reciprocity; many peers were serving as what
Hearn (2010) calls “feeling intermediaries,” whose goals are to
give and receive positive feedback.
A lot of musicians on Indaba go around spamming (leaving good comments on other people’s songs while politely asking for good comments
back). I’ve seen lots and lots of really bad and mediocre music placing
itself as a hot track and in the leader board because of this system and
it’s ridiculous and not fair that musicians get ranked by their own rivals.
On the other hand I think the songs chosen by the judges as winners
of the contest are always very deserved, so I think there should be no
popular vote winner and all the winners should be chosen by the judges.
(Indaba survey)
In this context, being candid with one’s criticism or feedback
often does not seem feasible, because peers fear that it could
potentially have a negative impact on their own competitions.
There is no way one will get honest feedback on their songs because, as
we depend on votes from our peers and if we have negative critics for
someone, they are unlikely to vote for us. Therefore the whole commenting experience becomes insincere, sugar-coated BS. (Indaba survey)
Although there is a growing concern over the inauthentic nature
of peer feedbacks, not all comments can be viewed as nonconstructive criticisms. Some survey participants argued that Indaba
Music’s competitions had some learning value, insofar as one
could gain a better appreciation of individual fortes and areas
in need of improvement: “Hearing competition give[s] oneself a
good understanding of where one’s strengths and weakness are”
(Indaba survey). The other useful aspect was the chance to learn
about professional-quality sound and mixing techniques: “It is
a great opportunity for me to learn a lot more about production
and mixing by analyzing and working with the commercial
tracks provided in the contests” (Indaba survey). Another participant noted, “Constructive critiques can have a positive impact
on music. I have used other sites that offer feedback and when
it is good it is usually accepted. When it’s not it is questioned or
disregarded” (Indaba survey). Although not all the survey comments stated that peer feedback is meaningless, the prominent
trend was still based on giving positive feedback for reciprocity.
At this juncture, it would be worthwhile to consider how online
critiques from peers compared to expert criticisms in the Indaba
Music contest Grammy U: The Masters’ Critique.
Grammy U: The Masters’ Critique
To further understand informal learning in a contest setting, I
conducted a case study on Grammy U: The Masters’ Critique.
According to the Grammy 365 website, Grammy U is a “fastgrowing community of college students, primarily between the
ages of 17 and 25, who are pursuing a career in the recording
industry.” The goal of Grammy U is to offer students an “out
of classroom” experience, replicating real professional industry
experience. Grammy U was held to provide direct critical feedback from professionals in the music industry. The contest took
place in April 2012, and the contestants were asked to submit
one song each. The chosen finalists and one winner were invited
to a live finale at the Recording Academy in New York City. They
also received oral and written critiques of their submissions
from a panel of music industry professionals. The opportunity
for aspiring musicians to be heard by professionals in the music
industry is extremely valuable. Since many musicians hope to
become professionals, the stakes were high for many contestants.
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With this understanding of the contest and its stakes, I set
forth a research process to assess the learning aspect tied to the
competition framework. In addition to a textual analysis of the
discussion forums of the Grammy U contest, I also interviewed
five finalists by telephone and had a face-to-face conversation
with the contest winner. For the purposes of this study, the
finalists were all assigned random numbers without any specific
meaning or organization, to retain their anonymity.
The five finalists all discussed how this opportunity helped
them better understand their strengths and weaknesses as musicians. Yet an interesting difference between traditional critiques
by critics and professionals and those by amateurs emerged
here. Traditionally, music critics served to “take on the role
of denouncing the new in the name of old” (Frith 2002, 236).
In short, the role of critics was often to unpack difficult music
for nonprofessional listeners; in doing so, many critics leaned
toward the valorization of musicality and originality. In contrast, the informal critiques that took place during the Grammy
U competition were slightly different in focus, since the critics mainly concentrated on helping the competitors hone their
sound to correspond with popular preferences:
What they were telling me was to make it more. Make it, maybe change
up the lyrics so that more people can relate to. Or change up the stylish
production or get new producer so that it will be radio hit. You know
with like the electric, electro pop scene. … They kind of told to be like
you can’t go that way. But ultimately it’s your choice because it’s my
song. I believe. Well I can’t say 100 percent for like the radio hits or like
the top songs, but … it’s for like the catchier purpose or for the purpose
being more audible to more listeners. (Finalist 2)
Finalist 4 also noted that the “critique was definitely hit song
focused” but concluded that the judges were aware that not
every artist was interested in creating a hit song. In citing one of
the judges, Finalist 4 mentioned that the advice given was not
to compromise one’s style as an artist and that all the opinions
should be taken with a grain of salt. Finalist 5 made a similar
point:
For example, they really stressed that songs should be, especially for
ones that you want to have played on the radio, they should be very
short and concise and you don’t have any unnecessary solos or filler at
all. We actually were pleasantly surprised by the fact that we kept our
songs really short and to the point. The people at Grammy U, they listened to each of the songs while all the finalists were in the room, and
they only played them for something like two and half minutes or three
minutes of the song. They said that’s what a generous producer or PR
person would actually listen to if a song got submitted to them.
The opportunity provided for these finalists pertained to learning the formula for writing a catchy tune that could potentially
turn into a hit song. Nonetheless, as Finalist 5 noted, even if his
goals were not aligned with being a hit songwriter, these critiques held value for him.
The motivation for entering the contest is also an important
factor in understanding what these musicians were aiming to
get out of the experience. Finalist 2 entered “to get my music
out there for people to listen or for anyone. Not even industry professionals. Just for anyone to take a listen to my song.”
The interviewee noted that entering the contest was an “eyeopening” experience, since he learned that industry professionals also liked his song. This served as a seal of approval, which
resulted in him feeling inspired to “continue to pursue music as
a professional.” This finalist also mentioned how the opportunity had helped him learn about the songwriting process. The
judges’ constructive criticism of his music was invaluable, in
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part because of their varying backgrounds. When Finalist 2 compared the contest to his musical education in a formal university
setting, he claimed that the experiences were not strikingly different: “At least what my school teaches is how to become a very
good overall musician, and it’s the very same aspect of what they
told me as the feedback on my song.”
Additionally, there was the intrinsic reward that comes from
sharing one’s music. “Well, like all musicians, everyone wants
their stuff heard. I truly entered the contest, one, I wanted to
get my message across saying this is my music, and this is what
I need to say to the world, and I hope I inspire one of you guys”
(Finalist 2). Another major extrinsic motivator for entering the
contest was to make connections within the music industry:
I want to make connections because I want to become a professional,
or I want to become a successful musician, and so far I’m just a student.
I believe that this is a good head start. I really don’t mind about how
many badges I have. I don’t really mind about those badges. They could
take them off and I don’t—I wouldn’t mind. (Finalist 2)
As clearly evinced here, badges were neither the ultimate goal
nor a primary interest; rather, Finalist 2’s goal was to clearly
learn how to become a professional musician.
Finalist 3, however, gave a slightly different account of what
he learned through the critiquing process.
No, I don’t think I learned too much about our music in particular. …
They each gave their perspective say on things. They kind of told us
about it, but it wasn’t anything that we haven’t heard yet, you know
what I mean?
This person further noted that the professional critique suggested niche markets into which the finalists’ music could fit.
Finalist 3 was told that his type of music would do better in
Europe’s hip-hop scene, but this musician desired more concrete
advice on how to launch his career. Besides comments about
his music’s viability and marketability, he also received criticism about the technical aspects of his production. The engineer
on the panel constructively commented that he would prefer
to have the sound of the snare be more prominent in the mix.
Finalist 3 also mentioned that some of the critiques were contradictory in nature.
The one singer, her critique was contradicting. She said, the first guy
was very playful and she likes to have a little bit more raw of rapper,
and then the second rapper on that song, she criticized him for being
a little too raw. I don’t think she knew too much about hip-hop or this
or that. She kind of contradicted herself because the song consisted of
about four rappers, and I made the beat and recorded it, so that’s pretty
much what it was. It was kind of tough for her to give anything feedback
wise because we didn’t have any singing, except for samples that are put
in there.
Finalist 3 noted that in addition to learning where his music
might sell well, he was interested in learning about specific avenues and recommendations about where to go and what to do to
take his career to the next level. For this finalist, receiving feedback from professionals was not necessarily the most beneficial
thing, because he felt that anonymous feedback could give a real
measure of how his music is being received by the audience. In
referring to one of the sites that performs such analysis (SoundOut), he said, “That has probably been the best feedback that
I’ve gotten because you’ve got to base yourself on what normal
people out there walking on the streets think about your music.
Somebody who likes country but hates hip hop and they’re
forced to write something about this.”
Finally, in the interview with the contest winner, I was interested in learning if he might have perceived the experience
differently. His goal for entering the contest was no different
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from the others’ goals, as his main motivation was to become
a professional musician. Besides the Grammy U contest, he had
competed in other contests and had earned some positive outcomes and recognition. In speaking about his other motivations,
he mentioned a desire to “broaden [his] skill” beyond performance, specifically referencing remixing and film compositions.
Although he noted that the competition may further his career
as a performing artist, it brought with it other benefits, such as
getting involved in “things that are outside of that immediate
niche.” He mentioned that winning the competition was “like
a portfolio expander.” Although he already had quite a number
of badges, he was not even aware of them until I pointed them
out. Given this ignorance, it was clear that badges were neither
his goal nor his interest.
As for the rewards from winning the contest, he mentioned
that he was supposed to get a free recording session, as well as
an opportunity to have a conversation with various record label
executives. Although the advertised rewards were pending at
the time of our interview, the winner noted that he had already
received other rewards because of his win. Overall, he seemed
rather indifferent about receiving the rewards because, outside
of the Indaba Music network, he was in discussion with a label
about a record deal. This was similar to the experience of another
musician I interviewed. He too had been involved with Indaba
Music, but his recent publishing deal came through another site
called SoundCloud; through that platform, someone randomly
approached him and invited him to present his work to be considered for a publishing deal. For many musicians, Indaba Music
is just one opportunity out of an array of similar ones, such as
the opportunities on paramountsong.com, unsigned-only music
competitions, and international songwriting contests. Indaba
Music does not seem to be their inevitable choice if they are trying to further their career paths.
Nonetheless, the winner claimed that entering the contest
provided a valuable learning opportunity, since it allowed him
to hear other people’s music and divergent approaches to making music. He mentioned that it “forces him out of [his] comfort
zone,” and he considers that to be one of its major benefits:
I find the feedback useful. Whether or not I apply it, it’s always good
to hear because people who love you don’t necessarily always give you
that kind of critical feedback. People who don’t love you don’t give you
anything useful … because you feel defensive or something. Authority
figures are dangerous but sometimes they are the only ones who can
provide something.
Feedback given by professional critics is valuable but clearly does
not necessarily change one’s direction in music. This point was
also echoed by others who felt that criticisms are only of limited usefulness; as such, the musicians do not uncritically accept
them as either right or wrong, just as advisory.
The other rewards from this opportunity related to building
a reputation as an artist. The winner believed that he could get
more exposure to industry professionals as a result of winning
and becoming more recognizable in the community.
The best I could say is that in the Grammy U critique it was by … The
critique was by pretty mysterious people, all four of whom now know
who I am. That doesn’t give me any tangible benefits, but the next time
they hear my name it’ll be the second time; that counts for something.
The third time they hear my name they’ll be like, “Why do I keep hearing this guy’s name?” That’s how things happen.
Much of the reward for entering this contest and winning was
measured by the winner in terms of the long-term benefit of creating a buzz among industry professionals.
54 Chapter 3
Taken as a whole, learning through digital platforms has its
pros and cons; while these environments clearly mitigate the
proximity between professionals in the music industry and
aspiring musicians who seek opportunities in the music business, the learning experience is directly linked to understanding
what is desired by the commercial music industry professionals.
This dimension can be received positively as well as negatively,
depending on one’s ideological stance and allegiance. Given the
long-standing tension between art and commerce, on the one
hand, one may argue that these musicians are being trained to
write only hit songs. On the other hand, one may claim that
this is a highly useful opportunity, as musicians whose goals
are to become working musicians in the music business would
find this similar to real-world experiences. Many of the implications of learning here intersect with the discussions on the
commercialism of music. Yet it is worth pointing out that these
contestants did not necessarily take all the advice at face value.
While Finalist 4 had thought about following through on some
of the recommendations about making a radio hit (i.e., a shorter,
catchy tune), other finalists were more selective in what they
were willing to change.
As for understanding how these experiences might bridge
the conventional educational context, some of the finalists who
are music students did not find the experience drastically different from their academic activities. As universities often employ
professors who have a professional background in music, the
finalists felt that what was being taught inside and outside the
classroom was complementary, rather than a totally new avenue
of approach.
Overall, it seems that digital environments have opened up
wider opportunities for musicians to learn in diverse contexts,
allowing for learning from peers and random listeners, as well
as professionals. Rather than representing an alternative way
to learn, the digital environment seems to function in tandem
with classroom learning experiences. The only major difference
is the emphasis on the professional development of musicians
in the digital environments. It is not necessary to polarize these
experiences into a moral stance of good or bad, but it is up to
musicians to decide what pathway they plan on taking. Most
importantly, although the critiques from industry professionals
were limited in their impact, the musicians themselves believed
that the experience was valuable, not because they will ultimately change their styles but because it increased their understanding of the standards and expectations of the professional
music industry.
Toward the Challenges of Building an Ideal Music Evaluation
Process
Research in the realm of music contests has already noted
the shortcomings of competitions in relation to music pedagogy (Austin 1990). In particular, Glejser and Heyndels (2001)
observed a discrepancy in evaluation results in terms of the
ranking order of musicians. A similar observation was made
by Haan, Dijkstra, and Dijkstra (2005), noting that musicians
who perform later in contests ranked better than earlier contestants, thus pointing out the bias and inefficiency in the system. Moreover, the issues with competitions are not exclusive
to popular genres of music. Classical music competitions echo
the problematic nature of evaluations, confirming the findings
connected with Indaba Music. In her observation of classical
music contests, McCormick (2009) notes three major findings
56 Chapter 3
from the contestants: (1) “Competitions are inherently arbitrary
and unfair,” (2) “competitions failed to discover the next generation of great artist,” and (3) “competitions had actually done
more harm than good” (13–14). While there is a clear difference
between classical offline contests and online contests, which
predominately focus on driving traffic to the sites in question,
the first conclusion was echoed by many Indaba musicians. In
this regard, the issue was not just who should be the judge of
music, or if one should solely blame the corporate system that
credentializes musicians for profit; the main underlying question pertains to whether music can be judged in a fair, objective
way at all. In the case of music, the issues of subjectivity of tastes
and aesthetic standards present serious challenges to establishing fair criteria and assessment systems:
Everything is based on the judges in these contests and how open they
are to new ideas for the winner. The rest of the winners are subjective
to how many places they link their songs with. So the people with more
computer time have a better audience for the votes. (Indaba survey)
In general, musicians find that when it comes to evaluations of
music, neither the quantity of popular votes nor the evaluations
by the judges fully indicated a work’s value. The issues brought
up by most musicians were related to the subjectivity of tastes.
It is impossible to rank, rate or evaluate music from the beginning. Accuracy, justice and so on on this matter is pointless to talk about. However,
these still are contests we are talking about. Someone has to win, but it
does not mean it is the best music created. It was just the right piece for
the judges. (Indaba survey)
Another survey participant echoed the earlier comment, albeit
more philosophically:
Sound doesn’t exist, it’s just vibrations, with that said it’s my brain telling me if the music is good or not. It’s all down to one’s subconscious,
memory will also play a major role. So it’s down to that one individual
and that one piece of music at that given point in time. (Indaba survey)
Music was also perceived not as a form of commodity but rather
in affective terms, tapping into the personal interior: “Good
music is something that comes from the heart that resonates
with people who are listening to it. It evokes a feeling of calm,
gratitude, happiness or is a catharsis of some sort” (Indaba survey). Another survey recipient replied:
One person’s love is another person’s hate. Music allows freedom of
expression, which is a good thing. The best part of music is that like art,
it is up to each individual to decide for themselves what is good. Unfortunately this freedom is also why a lot of talented people miss out on
getting recognition for their work.
The subjectivity of musical standards was echoed by many members: “Music is subjective. It usually tells us what the judges were
looking for, and how to gain votes in the future” (Indaba survey). Another musician noted: “There is no such thing as ‘universal criteria’ when it comes to an inherently subjective art.
Anyone who says otherwise is either misinformed—or an asshole” (Indaba survey).
One musician commented that even when the judges make
a decision, the judges’ own perceptions about good music are
flawed and biased because they themselves are influenced by
how the public is reacting to a track.
Well, we can’t speak of fairness when the criteria is completely subjective. Although I suspect that the judges often make decisions based on
what they think [the] general public will like rather than on what “good”
music is. As for the contests decided by votes—those are completely
skewed towards people with most friends/connections. (Indaba survey)
Overall, many of the Indaba musicians’ survey responses reveal
the perception that music evaluative metrics are inherently
58 Chapter 3
flawed and biased. Are we moving toward a crisis of evaluations?
Is music evaluation based on contests or competitions at an
impasse?
Conclusion
In this chapter, I have explored several ways in which musicians
are evaluated. In doing so, I delineated some emerging problems,
as well as potential benefits, connected to criticisms and learning opportunities that proliferate on Indaba Music. Although
peer evaluations were an integral part of the site’s activities, this
process of evaluation turned into social protocols and mechanical reciprocity. As these mechanisms faltered and complaints
about popular votes soared, Indaba Music reacted. In the summer of 2013, Indaba Music attempted to rectify the problematic voting methods. The leaderboard, a section on the contest
site where contestants can view the progress of their votes, now
exhibits the sources of the votes: Is a vote coming from Indaba
(peers) or from networks of random Facebook friends? Through
this demarcation, the leaderboard tracks the origins of popularity. This modification reveals that digital environments are often
dynamic in nature; they can be modified over time, although it
is unclear whether the changes will always lead to improvement.
While awareness is the first step toward a remedy, the musicians from these sites illustrate that they are more than capable
of assessing the evaluation systems based on their own experiences. As one interviewee insightfully puts it, judgments and
evaluations are, in essence, operating as “quality control” (Indaba Musician 1, personal communication with author). By and
large, many of the comments from the survey reflect incisive
personal critiques, which subsequently prompted the researcher
to focus on their messages. Yet the challenges of critiquing the
evaluation of works of art not only lie in the system itself but
also point to the inherent problems that underlie the subjectivity of musical and aesthetic tastes. Of course, this does not mean
that the developers or the owners of these sites are innocent of
attempts at exploitation. However, along with the continual
problematization of evaluation methods through an active construction of scholarly discourses, we should also explore creative
producers’ goals and intrinsic pleasures and gains, especially in
light of Amabile’s (1996) argument that intrinsic rewards generally improve the levels of creativity, while external rewards mitigate creativity. The impetus for competing may not be based on
fair evaluation systems. Nonetheless, learning experiences and
intrinsic pleasures are also part of the experience. Musicians on
Indaba Music often attributed the broken system, the luck- and
chance-based evaluation, to both internal politics and the game
of subjectivity. Yet this is not surprising if we recall the other
means to evaluate music (i.e., moral systems, aesthetic experiences) that contradict the common conception of music as commodified cultural goods. In short, as the evaluation of music
proliferates in the digital era, the specific context as well as multiple and transient factors that affect the shaping of criteria and
standard should also be considered.
4 Underpinning Digital Badges as a Symbol of Honor
In the resentment and dissonance that musicians often express
toward applying popularity as a standard for assessing music, it
is clear that alternative credentialing methods are necessary. Yet
many musicians are skeptical of what the new criteria should be.
In this chapter, I explore the potential for digital badges to offer
an alternative credentialing means for building reputations.
Digital badges have recently emerged as an alternative credentialing system and have received increasing exposure in the
media (Ash 2012; Lomas 2013). In its early stages, this system
was explored through Mozilla’s Open Badges program and the
efforts of the Digital Media and Learning/HASTAC (Humanities, Arts, Technology and Science Alliance and Collaboratory),
MacArthur Foundation. Goligoski (2012) explained in detail
how the badges would be implemented. For instance, Mozilla
would work with “career website and credentialing portfolio and
profile system[s],” such as LinkedIn. Furthermore, when clicked,
the badges would indicate what skill sets or accomplishments
they represented. Overall, this system sought to bridge formal
and informal learning frameworks, the underlying premise
being that learning takes place over a lifetime, not just in school
settings. Goligoski also noted public concerns ranging across a
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wide spectrum, but particularly related to confusion and a lack
of unity or clarity of intent. A similar concern was expressed
by Jenkins (2012) in his blog post “How to Earn Your Skeptic
‘Badge,’” in which he highlighted some apprehensions about
badges becoming a form of gamification, a means to earn points.
He additionally questioned how the badges could have any uniformity of use and type. In a similar vein, Young (2012) discussed another potential concern with badges: “Badges turn all
learning into a commodity and cheapen the difficult challenge
of mastering something new” (50). Citing Cathy Davidson, a
cofounding director of the digital learning network HASTAC,
Young explained that one of the challenges connected to badges
is a groundless prejudice toward their value and potential.
Although the research on digital badges is relatively new,
the badges’ potential merits have recently arisen as a topic of
research with the active support of the Digital Media and Learning/HASTAC, MacArthur Foundation. So far, only a few articles
have received attention in peer-reviewed journals. Halavais’s
(2012) comprehensive overview of the history of badges is noteworthy, as he describes the trajectory leading up to the digital
era. Previously badges were often awarded for achievements and
prestige, reflecting experience and group identification in their
conveyance
In the context of education, Abramovich et al. (2013) demarcated the difference between educational badges and merit
badges, such as those earned in video games. The authors noted
how educational badges are for informal learners, and they
highlighted the inevitable symbiosis in assessment and motivation. Much of the discussion of badges’ benefits in educational
learning environments was related to motivating students. How
likely are students to be motivated to learn when they are being
Underpinning Digital Badges 63
rewarded with badges? Drawing on findings taken from a group
of thirty-six seventh graders and fifteen eighth graders at a charter school for teaching applied mathematics, Abramovich et al.
(2013) noted that the motivational level for each student varied and depended on the different types of badges. Moreover,
they noted that extrinsic motivators have a negative impact on
learning.
Similarly, Rughiniş and Matei (2013) explored digital badges
for their educational use, focusing specifically on two functions
of badge architectures: “mapping a learning system and offering
a vocabulary to present one’s achievements” (1). The research
indicates that badges operating within the intrinsic/extrinsic
motivation dichotomy have conflicting results, and the authors
proposed that badge architectures should be studied in light of
their “descriptive and creative functions for the system in which
they are implemented” (6). In line with this premise, this chapter thus aims to fill the gap that exists between the roles and
functions of badges in educational contexts and in creative communities. To this end, I argue that rewards, motivations, and
evaluations in creative communities pose differing types of challenges and complex intrinsic/extrinsic motivations. These must
be confronted before the further development of the badge system can occur.
Digital Badges on Indaba Music
From the outset, let us distinguish between badges as a means
to build reputation, honor, and prestige and badges as a means
to showcase skill sets or mastery of a certain technique, such
as mixing, producing, or engineering. The latter kind of badge
functions similarly to the acquisition of licenses. Here my
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inquiry extends beyond a simple identification of one’s association and skill sets, since I am primarily interested in how
badges are used to enhance one’s reputation, honor, and prestige. To understand the background rationale behind the integration of badges as part of Indaba Music, I interviewed Mantis
Evar, cofounder of Indaba Music. He explained that when the
site launched, it offered three different types of memberships:
basic, pro, and platinum. People were given three keys to unlock
opportunities taking place on the site; however, after they used
their three keys, although the site developer had expected the
members to upgrade their memberships to premium accounts,
many members would just “drop that profile and go create a
new one for free and get three more keys” (Evar interview). To
this extent, the keys were not generating revenue for the site, but
they did create a loophole in the system. To remedy the issue,
Evar told me, the Indaba team came up with a tool, “something
to be proud of … to make their page something special.”
Badges were developed as a way to ensure that members
would find their profile pages something to be “proud of.” Evar
mentioned that when Indaba first started the badge system,
some members desired to purchase the badges:
They wanted special badges, they wanted to feel special. After explaining
to people that they didn’t really need to purchase badges, that they were
something that was given out, it actually made me consider buyable
badges. Maybe something you can sell to buy for another member online. Almost like a fan badge. I love you, I want to buy a fan badge, I can
buy a fan badge. I came up with this idea of maybe for a dollar you buy
a fan badge; 50 percent of it goes to Indaba Music, the other 50 percent
goes to some sort of music charity or something. And so these fans are
working on supporting musicians, and also help support organizations
that could use a little extra support.
According to Evar’s conversations with the members of Indaba
Music, the members have valued the badges:
It means a lot for the people that are receiving the badges, whether it’s
given to them from Indaba Music, or whether they’ve earned it through
a competition or something else. People seem to be very, very happy
when they see another badge that pops up on their page. I have this
one badge that we created called Music Appreciation Badge. And what
this is is it’s a badge for people that continue to give us positive input; their role: they’re model members of the site. They work with each
other, they communicate well. They are very active with our opportunities and stuff. And when we pull out these members, I personally give
them those badges. And it’s not something that you can work towards,
it’s something that is just rewarded because I know that, and I’ve been
watching you, you are a great member, you’ve been supporting us all
along, we love you, and here’s an extra badge for you. (Evar interview)
Evar then described the evolution of the badges on Indaba Music.
The first badge was called the Ninja badge. At the time, four
Ninja badges were created for the cofounders of Indaba Music.
Unlike most Indaba Music badges, which indicate their meaning
if you point the cursor at them, the Ninja badge’s meaning was
kept hidden. Evar explained that many members wanted Ninja
badges even though they did not know what the badges represented, because they were seen as something rare and very special. Now Indaba Music has many of these special badges, and
their purpose is only revealed to members who receive them.
Evar further explained how Indaba Music has come to categorize badges into four different groups: quality badges, association badges, activity badges, and specialty badges. He noted that
people gain quality badges when they win a contest or are a runner-up, honorable mention, judges’ pick, grand prize winner, or
featured member. Association badges are given to Grammy U
members who are part of the Grammy intern group.
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After conducting my interview with Evar, I was able to interview Josh Robertson, a vice president of content management
at Indaba Music, to further understand the implementation of
badges on the site. For Robertson, badges provide alternative
gratification to monetary or tangible goods:
Badges are a way to add this element of gaming, of this element of recognition in a way that you don’t have to reward people just for winning
based on quality. There’s other ways to reward people. For instance,
there’re badges that we give out based on participation. If you enter
a certain number of opportunities, you become a certain opportunity
level. It could be ten or fifty or a hundred, so that encourages participation and [there is] this gaming element that isn’t based purely on skill
and talent. … I think that badges and gaming elements are things that
are inherent to human psychology. The reason why you do them is just
for that simple fact that people like to be rewarded for their activities
even if it’s something as small as a digital badge for participating in ten
things. It’s still worthwhile.
Robertson commented that the Indaba community complained
about the disappearance of the badges when the site took them
away during a time of transition and change. The Indaba blog
announced this transition on July 29, 2010, and stated that the
site would not be down for more than twelve hours. From the
perspective of the Indaba founders and executives, badges are one
way in which to encourage the participation of musicians without giving out other material rewards. Although the system could
be considered a gamified experience, a large number of musicians
have nevertheless been mostly unaware of the badges’ existence
or have expressed little desire to acquire them. To this end, a disconnect may exist between the intention of the developers and
the widespread awareness among the community members.
Halavais (2012) notes that “given that badges are intended to
be a visual shortcut, it is important that they remain stable and
recognizable” (370). To this end, I inquired whether musicians
regularly notice the badges on user profiles and if the badges
hold any significance for them. Although not every musician’s
profile has earned a badge, what is the overall level of recognition tied to the badges? Seventy people (29.9 percent) stated that
the badges were somewhat important, and sixty-six people (27.6
percent) described their reaction to the badges as negative. Only
forty people (17.8 percent) responded positively to the badges,
and fifty people (20.7 percent) replied that they had not noticed
the badges. The remaining twenty respondents (8.3 percent)
indicated that they didn’t care about the badges.
When asked if badges can realistically serve as a way to help
others recognize musicians’ skill sets or achievements (and to
ultimately function as a musician’s digital resume), eighty
respondents (34.2 percent) replied positively; the second largest response group, seventy-two responses (30.8 percent), was
ambivalent. The “I don’t know” category received fifty-one
responses (21.8 percent), and the negative category received
thirty-six (15.4 percent). These numbers indicate that musicians
are, in general, uncertain whether the badges can be professionally helpful.
The open responses provide some valuable insights into
how musicians perceive badges as an alternative credentialing
method. Many replies focused on demystifying the value of the
badges; overall, the musicians did not assign the badges any specific significance or meaning. Rather, the badges were understood as inanimate objects of questionable benefit: “Badges
seem very immature and unprofessional. People should be reading through your skills, not looking for dumb little pictures”
(Indaba survey). Another musician stated that badges are “just
a symbol. It really speaks nothing about the person. It’s just a
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ribbon. Great minds and talents are not made with achievements or awards. They are won with compassion and wisdom.”
The survey respondent continued: “The badges mean nothing
because they are nothing more than tiny icons representing how
long you’ve been working on Indaba.” However, this person did
not seem to understand that other badges are earned by being a
contest winner or finalist.
The issue of the badges’ questionable value was picked up
by another survey participant, who stated that “the badges are
awarded by someone and music is a thing which cannot be
judged by an individual. I do not know how the person was
judged, so I cannot make a decision about their level of talent.” Another musician in the survey also gave the critique that
badges cannot be a representation of one’s talent:
Well, because I don’t think all the people that have badges have them
because of their “talent” and more so their popularity which has nothing to do with who they are as a musician. People who have badges
should have them because they are great talented Musician[s], Artist[s],
or Producers. People can buy views to make Indaba think they are a good
artist which sucks!
The dismissive attitude toward badges resurfaced in other survey
responses: “some of which have no merit, i.e., popular vote winners.” These responses reveal that much of the issue pertains to a
lack of understanding about the badges, although there is clearly
some understanding of how they could work as an alternative
credentialing method:
I am not very knowledgeable on the subject of profile badges on any
website or social network, but I imagine that the effectiveness of such
badges would depend on their criteria for attainment. If they are intended to indicate a particular status, affiliation or achievement, then I
suppose that’s a good way to give information to profile visitors up-front
without requiring them to search through various other elements of a
user’s profile. (Indaba survey)
Another reason why musicians on Indaba Music were not supportive of the idea of badges had to do with their skepticism
about whether the website can serve as a place to network and
showcase digital e-portfolios.
Indaba music simply isn’t a professional enough forum for such achievement recognition, not to mention the voting system is flawed to a “Hot
or Not” algorithm for leaderboard recognition, thus disqualifying great
submissions for honorable mentions. The website is merely a tool to
get your name out, grow as a musician, and have fun collaborating or
speaking with other musicians. It is not a site that reflects the skill level
or quality of an artist’s work. The badges mean nothing because they are
nothing more than tiny icons representing how long you’ve been working on Indaba. (Indaba survey)
Echoing other musicians’ skepticism about the objectivity of the
musical criteria, another musician also noted that “badges mean
that some[one] out there thinks you’re talented; while that’s
nice and all, no one else is gonna take their word for it, people
have to listen to your material [and] decide for themselves if
they like your material” (Indaba survey). Other musicians conceived of badges in a quantifiable way and did not understand
that there were other badges besides the badges one can gain
by entering contests. “Number of entry badges doesn’t convey
the quality of one’s work, only the number of contests one has
entered. I suppose it shows dedication, but not necessarily talent. Popular vote winners are a joke, because the voting system
is a joke” (Indaba survey).
In light of Halavais’s (2012) point that “to create a badge
system that is mindful of that history, it is important that the
intended function of the badges be understood” (370), there was
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a lack of understanding or awareness about how badges are generally earned on Indaba Music. One survey participant stated:
“Anyone who pays can have a badge; skills and accomplishments have no bearing.” It seems as though this member was
referring to badges one earns through a paid membership with
Indaba Music. To this end, it was clear that there was no accurate understanding of the value that the badges themselves held;
in comparison, getting recognition was more important than
acquiring the badge. A similar misunderstanding was expressed
by another musician who claimed that badges “can give a guideline that someone has given the time and effort in their projects,
but I wouldn’t say it holds a tangible meaning” (Indaba survey).
Overall, the open-ended survey revealed that hardly anyone
had deep thoughts or opinions about the badges. In fact, many
idealistic responses related to the very nature of music: “The
badges are awarded by someone, and music is a thing which
cannot be judged by an individual. I do not know how the person was judged, so I cannot make a decision about their level of
talent” (Indaba survey). Another respondent noted:
A badge for winning contests doesn’t give any information on what level of competition there was or even what genre the competition was. If
the badges do anything, they just indicate that that particular user happened to have a quality mix that fits with what those particular judges
were looking for. (Indaba survey)
Echoing the concern over prejudice toward badges mentioned
by Davidson, the musicians displayed dismissive attitude
towards the badge system. With this in mind, I asked them to
think about whether or not the badges can effectively represent their talents and accomplishments. One musician replied:
“I feel as though ‘badges’ can help if they effectively denote
something of significant importance.” It was clear that despite
Indaba’s intention, badges were not highly valued by the users.
The musicians’ perceptions of the value of badges were important because, to some extent, the community of Indaba Music
cocreates their significance. One reply stated that badges have
brought the musician more collaboration and work: “Having a
badge has brought a lot more serious inquiries about music and
helped me collaborate with many different artists from around
the world.” Another survey participant stated: “Badges helped
in getting exposure. My profile isn’t viewed all that often due to
my relative inactivity, but after the badge was added, I received
many hits in the few days following. I feel the badge gives you a
bit of legitimacy if nothing else.”
Badges create incentives to compete. They also bring a game
element to the site to increase participation. Another musician
noted that badges can bring “more fans. And people feel if you
are getting badges, they want to know why, so they click on
your music” (Indaba survey). Clicking thus operates as a seal of
approval by the community. Finally, there was one extremely
optimistic opinion about the badges. For this musician, badges
can be a positive reflection of one’s level of achievement and
skill:
I try to do my best in everything I do—the badge is simply feedback that
tells me I did something right. I think others who have tried and failed
can use the badges as guidelines/examples to help them become better
contributors. Receiving a badge means a lot to me because there is soooo
much talent on indabamusic.com. (Indaba survey)
Clearly this musician understands that the badges relate to
a value statement, one embedded in the overall community’s
talents and skill sets. Despite this individual endorsement, the
greater issues deal with the ability to communicate beyond the
Indaba Music communities.
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Motivations for Musicians
The musicians’ perceptions of badges help us understand varying motivation levels and values inside the community. In the
context of education, motivation operates as one of the positive
merits of implementing badges (Barker 2013; Abramovich et al.
2013). However, as Barker also pointed out, “[Overemphasizing]
the badges as an external reward for learning [could reduce] the
learners’ intrinsic motivation to learn” (253). In contrast to this
view, in the case of interest-driven creative communities such
as Indaba Music, this apprehension was not borne out. The survey indicated the following motivations to enter the contests:
148 (66.6 percent) stated that their primary and strongest motivation to enter a contest or opportunity was the potential for
professional connections, and the next highest motivation was
prize money (99 participants, or 44.6 percent). Feedback was a
motivator for 95 people (42.8 percent). Earning a badge was the
least popular motivation with 21 responses (9.5 percent), and
9.9 percent of the respondents answered “None of the above.”
For musicians, badges function as a mere visual recognition
of participation in a specific contest. As Deci (1972) noted, “A
person is intrinsically motivated if he performs an activity for no
apparent reward except for the activity itself” (113). Many musicians echoed this point. A similar account of motivation in terms
of creativity was echoed by Krueger and Krueger (2007): “Intrinsic motivation is a major source of creativity” (6). However, one
should not automatically assume that creative producers are
completely uninterested in external rewards or recognition. In
his seminal work Creativity, Csikszentmihalyi (2009) insightfully
notes that “one should not expect that the strong intrinsic motivation of creative individuals needs to exclude an interest in
fame and fortune” (426). This is an important point to remember when considering badges and honors. Although creative
producers like musicians are motivated intrinsically, one cannot
claim that all artists are motivated only by intrinsic pleasure,
nor do artists who desire external means of recognition necessarily lack intrinsic motivations. Reputation building is a central
part of artistry for artists, according to Becker (1982), and to this
extent, desiring recognition can be natural.
Can Digital Badges Represent Honor and Reputation?
The value of badges as alternative credentialing lies in the idea
that the quantity of badges one has acquired matters less than
what the badges represent. There are many types of unique
badges, but how can one make others understand the selective
nature and meaning of the badges while also arguing that they
hold universal significance? If badges are to represent an alternative means to evaluate musicians’ reputations, badges must have
a symbolic appeal, or else they will be ineffective in breaking
down the valorization of the number games.
One of the benefits of earning badges can be their potential
to represent multiple subjectivities in terms of musical values.
Rather than emphasizing how many badges one has earned, the
process of earning badges could potentially be a useful assessment system that focuses on celebrating a wide range of tastes,
provided that what the badges represent becomes valued. This
would be helpful to musicians who are opposed to popularity as
a gauge of success but value the endorsements from the competition judges. In this sense, badges could indicate both unique
selectivity, such as a “judges’ pick,” and universal values, as in
having popular appeal. Badges can represent both individuality
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and collectivity without creating an unnecessary hierarchy
between the two. Nevertheless badges still face inherent problems and challenges owing to music’s ability to communicate
in and of itself.
According to Holt (2007), “Musical sound is a symbolic form
of representation” (5). The notion of music’s symbolic meaning
was also echoed by several survey participants: “Music is not a
thing” (Indaba survey). Many musicians did not wish for their
music to be judged as a commodity; as one musician noted,
it is a “vibration” (Indaba survey). What seemed to trouble
many musicians was the objectification of music’s value. Given
music’s ability to transcend feelings and self-expression, what
other symbols lay behind music’s value?
Previously we established that the badges’ assets are that (1)
they can potentially interrupt a hierarchical conception of evaluation that privileges quantity, and (2) they can function as an
endorsement of multiple subjectivities. How do we understand
the badges’ function as visual communicators when music can
also be communicated symbolically? Music does not need additional enhancement or assistance to convey its quality or value,
so what place and meaning do visual symbols such as badges
have in the musical realm? Echoing several musicians’ earlier
responses, one may challenge the notion of badges by raising
the point that listening to music is itself an act of judgment.
Most importantly, this issue is more complicated when considering the rhetoric of “one-hit wonders,” which translates to many
as someone who has had one hit single but has not had success thereafter in his or her career. In other words, previous success does not guarantee a future outcome, and thus musicians’
process of gaining credentials does not result from one positive
outcome but will continue over time. While gaining one badge
may earn some level of credentialing, a musician will continue
to prove himself or herself under constantly evolving musical
standards, which means that one badge would not suffice as
a symbol of honor; this means it would need more than one
badge. Therefore, the criteria for musical evaluation may once
again focus on valorizing quantity over quality of badges.
Although Indaba Music has given values to the badges, they
did not translate clearly to the users in the form of shared meaning. However, this does not mean that Indaba Music has failed
in implementing the badges. What needs to be understood is
that much of this meaning must be created collectively within
the site. Yet these collective values are also shaped by how they
are being translated to the outside world, as well as how the outside community assigns values to them. This is similar to how
brand value operates, echoing Arvidsson’s (2006) observation
that “brand value is built through the appropriation of solidarity and affect generated in a plurality of different circumstances”
(89). To some extent, for the badges’ values to be understood collectively, they must have the ability to communicate throughout
multiple communities. As Rughiniş and Matei (2013) maintain:
“If badges are to support public reputations, holders must make
them visible and ‘translate’ them for external observers” (88).
While this can happen via the agency of the users, the greater,
significant impact will need to come from the actual industry,
which must impose meaning before the members within the
communities collectively enable it. Then an increase in the significance of the badges will follow naturally. To this end, one
cannot ignore the cultural aspects unique to the industries, communities, and educational fields that desire to implement badges
as an assessment system. Not only should one ascertain what is
valued within a particular culture, but one should also question
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the prevailing mode of ideology, as well as the common cultural
practices that uniquely shape that industry or field. To this end,
the research into badges should not just remain at the level of
a reductionist inquiry on pragmatics, such as asking, “Does the
badge mean anything to the users?” or “Has it truly inspired
musicians to gain more recognition?” An ethnographic understanding of the relevant communities is integral to understanding the badges’ uses and effects. Additionally, this effort should
not just focus on the uniqueness of newly emerging communities in digital spaces; the inquiry must dovetail with several
commonly shared views associated with achieving success and
recognition in the popular music industry.
To this extent, Frith’s (1988) discussion of how musicians
achieve success in the industry before the digital era is important
to consider. The first method was a pyramid method whereby
working hard and building a résumé were rewarded with success.
The second method was the talent pool model, where nothing
guaranteed success except the erratic nature of the music industry’s reliance on chance. Although the success earned from the
talent pool model did not guarantee continued success, honor,
and prestige, it was still a viable method of earning success. In my
previous research, I argued that these two models are still taking
place in digital environments; on the one hand, hard work via
earning popularity is rewarded, and on the other, being somewhere at the right time and place works (Suhr 2012). ascertain
As noted in the talent pool model, if one believes in the existence of luck, success in the popular music industry does not
always come as a result of hard work or talent. This is true if we
consider the musicians who are actively working in the music
industry and maintaining a certain level of success but have not
been trained in an accredited university or music school. Unlike
the educational fields or the informal learning communities in
which a degree or certificate testifies to one’s credentials to a certain level, in the popular music industry, the opposite scenario
exists. For some musicians, a lack of experience or credit ironically creates a favorable effect, as many talent shows reveal (e.g.,
Susan Boyle).
To this extent, how do musicians whose learning often exists
outside institutional or formal contexts find their own niches of
credentialing?1 According to Bourdieu (1984), an autodidact or
self-learner will always be considered illegitimate owing to a lack
of cultural capital:
The old-style autodidact was fundamentally defined by a reverence for
culture which was induced by abrupt and early exclusion, and which led
to an exalted, misplaced piety, inevitably perceived by the possessors of
legitimate culture as a sort of grotesque homage. (84)
Bourdieu would clearly argue that self-taught musicians are
excluded from all possibilities to gain credentials. However, for
popular musicians, learning often takes place in informal learning environments or in tandem with formal education. Green’s
(2007) in-depth study about how popular musicians learn highlights the need to bridge two different learning contexts, the formal and the informal.
In digital environments, the credentialing opportunities for
self-taught musicians are ubiquitous. For instance, Ito (2010)
analyzes the rewards connected to Japanese noncommercial fanmade music videos. The standards and norms are not aligned
with those of the mainstream industries, and the fan cultural
producers desire recognition and values that are uniquely shaped
within their specific community. Clearly, in a subculture community that practices open access, amateur creativity is valued
for its own sake without the teleological aim of recognition or
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profit from the mainstream industry. But what happens when
the process of credentialing occurs in an exclusive context?
In Seiter’s (2008) comparison of classical piano skill acquisition with young people’s development of digital media skills,
she notes how limited financial resources influence the acquisition of cultural capital. With exposure to both instruments and
learning opportunities, a pianist can eventually gain recognition
through a prestigious music teacher’s social network. Much of
this process is exclusive in nature, since access is permitted only
to those who can afford expensive training with a renowned
teacher. In line with Seiter’s point about the parochial entryway
for musicians seeking to excel and gain recognition in the classical music field, McCormick (2009) points out that, in classical
music, “the music competition is a professionalizing institution
in the field of cultural production that controls the distribution
of symbolic capital (i.e., prestige)” (6).
In reflecting on these conditions and limited access,2 we can
make an analogy with Indaba Music. If Indaba Music is mainly
seeking to increase its number of paid annual memberships, for
whom are these badges a useful indicator? Do they advance the
musicians’ careers, or do they solely benefit Indaba Music by
motivating musicians to engage in its competitions? How should
the communities that issue badges impose their power in terms
of credentialing if they are profiting from users who are competing and seeking to increase their reputations? Should musicians
have to be paying members? Should they be able to compete
without payment? Where does the boundary lie between efforts
to create a legitimate method of credentialing musicians and
the agendas of profit-driven corporations? Should the sites that
issue badges go through a particular review process to ensure
that they are legitimate? Much of this issue is complicated by the
drawing of symbolic boundaries (Lamont and Fournier 1992).
Lamont and Fournier discuss the importance of understanding how symbolic boundaries are created and the social consequences thereof. Although an elaboration of the different views
of symbolic boundaries by sociologists is beyond the scope of
this report, the question of inclusion and exclusion is pertinent
to the current discussion about access to opportunities.
In other words, to what extent is open access important to
universal credentialing? How do each community’s differing
sets of norms and cultures create unique distinctions? For Indaba Music, the users’ primary goal is to gain mainstream access;
thus the recognition conveyed by the digital badges within the
community did not seem to affect the musicians’ motivations,
since this required further bridging their symbolic value within
the greater community context (i.e., the entire music industry).
Additionally, a potential concern may arise if badges have
too much explicit power and value. Previously, the number of
friends on Myspace mattered so greatly that services to mechanically aid in this process increased (Suhr 2010). Similarly, YouTube views have been so important that several record labels
have faced accusations that they were trying to manipulate the
number of views for their artists’ videos (Gayle 2012). These few
examples alone show how acquiring badges could potentially
result in the same type of politics and manipulation, especially
in light of Mantis Evar’s comment about people wanting to
“buy” badges. This is an especially interesting discrepancy considering the survey and interview outcomes, since many of the
participants did not find much meaning in acquiring badges.
One of the interviewees also mentioned that he had received
an e-mail from a separate service company, offering to help raise
the number of listeners, a statistic that matters in the early stages
of the contests. Although the musician did not subscribe to this
service, he had honestly been tempted to give it a try to see if it
80 Chapter 4
could improve his performance during a particular contest. To
this extent, having a greater unifying significance of badges may
result in misleading representations of reputation owing to the
potential abuse of the system.
Conclusion
Much like the evaluation crisis in education, music communities face a similar watershed. On one hand, this is due to the
inherently ineffable and inexplicable nature of music. But on
the other hand, it has to do with the issue of precarious credentialing processes within the popular music industry. Although
gradual shifts have occurred through the rise of social media, the
prevailing mode of ideology, centered on concrete, quantitative
values as opposed to arbitrary evidence of success, may generate
resistance to a reform of the system.
If competitions and chart systems are an integral part of the
music industry’s core activities, would a symbolic understanding
of music’s values, in its inherent opposition to any credentialing system, be feasible? Will the music industry be receptive to
a more complex way to evaluate artists, when it has previously
and successfully relied on the penchants of audiences, even to
the extent of tracing the evolving tastes in music?3 While badges
seem to function as enhanced indicators of musicians’ talent, at
least in terms of what is being valorized in digital environments
today, the real question is how to bridge the divide with the
music industry. Furthermore, where should we place symbolic
capital? Does it exist within the music industry itself or outside
its borders? This is the most important question that has not yet
been settled. If the acquisition of symbolic capital lies outside the
commercial market, who determines Bourdieu’s so-called rules of
art? Although it may seem as if digital environments have blurred
the lines between the commercial music industry and grassroots
or underground musicians, digital environments have actually
heightened the shaping of these boundaries through the systemization of the grassroots or underground music communities. Yet
it is important to keep in mind that the potential to gain connections within the mainstream music industry motivated musicians
to join and participate in the contests.
In other words, musicians seem to be embracing the online
presence of traditional gatekeepers, since many musicians still
believe that persisting toward traditionally conceived dreams of
success, achievable through determination, luck, and hard work,
is important. One of the individuals with whom I spoke in person continually emphasized that “he is not naive” about the end
goal of the process. Despite being aware of the arbitrariness of the
competition process, many musicians seem to believe that they
must pursue as many opportunities as possible, since no universal entryway or system to gain approval and credentialing exists.
Finally, we must realize that addressing these questions cannot just be the sole effort of scholars or musicians. Educators,
technology companies, scholars, critics, and musicians should
all be involved in the deeper discussion and debate. Closing
down or dismissing prematurely the potential of badges as a
credentialing method would be a mistake. Thus in this chapter, I have critically explored badges’ potential as an alternative
means of assessment. Furthermore, I have analyzed the challenges that badge designers, educators, and the music industry, as well as musicians themselves, must confront as we think
about the future trajectory of the assessment system.
5 Digital Badges in Music Communities and Digital
Evaluations
In this report, I explore digital badges as an alternative evaluation practice by focusing on two music communities that have
adopted digital badges. Two primary concerns can be compared
in both communities. The first pertains to using digital badges as
an alternative evaluation method. How does Spotify’s evaluation
game compare to Indaba Music’s activities, since both communities use digital badges as a means to create gamified environments where learning can take place?
Spotify and Indaba Music use two different methods of evaluation. Spotify’s evaluating game concentrates solely on the hit
potential of songs. Therefore music evaluation on Spotify is
grounded in the combination of understanding participants’
personal musical tastes, ability to discern hit potential, and user
enjoyment. The evaluation process on Spotify is conditioned by
the logic of the market and conceived to produce a certain outcome related to recognizing what makes a hit in today’s music
industry.
On Indaba Music, the evaluation process is more complex.
Unlike Spotify’s focus on a sharp binary measure to evaluate
music, such as likes versus dislikes, hit or not, on Indaba Music,
earning a badge requires a lengthier process (not a matter of a
84 Chapter 5
few seconds or minutes, as on Spotify). Upon agreeing to enter a
contest, a musician’s tracks are judged by peers through a voting
method. In addition to voting (open to members of the community, as well as nonmembers), an algorithm on Indaba Music generates a Hot Track status. Although the subject of algorithms and
Hot Tracks will be explored at length elsewhere, the Indaba Music
algorithm picks up quantitative comments made by contestants.
To be successful, musicians need to both promote themselves and
gain peer endorsements. What is rewarded in the community is
thus active participation. Finally, a rotating panel of judges selects
the winning tracks. When musicians accumulate numerous votes
and are selected as finalists or winners, they acquire different
types of badges representing various achievements.
Second, what roles do digital badges play for evaluators and
those being evaluated? The evaluators of music feel no strong
motivation to earn digital badges. At best, digital badges might
express one’s personal musical taste, thus revealing an aspect of
personal identity. However, many of the badges were generic or
connoted a certain sociological understanding of tastes, such as
“hit maker” (referring to liking commercial music) versus “hipster” badges (implying esoteric tastes not shared by many people).
Other badges, such as “hit predictor,” also reflected how one’s
tastes were aligned with mainstream hit potential. To this end,
to consider digital badges as an extension of one’s musical tastes
is rather far-fetched. Furthermore, evaluators in general did not
place much meaning or value in acquiring digital badges, thus
revealing an apathy toward what the digital badges represent.
As for musicians who are evaluated, similar to Hit or Not game
players, they do not seem to be driven to acquire digital badges.
For the most part, musicians rarely need any additional motivation, as they are usually innately driven to create, share, and
Digital Badges in Music Communities 85
compete. Besides intrinsic goals, musicians’ other motivations
relate to potentially gaining connections in the music industry.
To this end, digital badges have little significance overall. Unless
digital badges hold collective value inside and outside of Indaba
Music, it seems unlikely that badges will function as symbols of
prestige or reputation. In the meantime, it is important not to
lose sight of the other means to evaluate music. Digital badges
are just one out of many emerging evaluations in today’s digital environments. Over time, new evaluative criteria and norms
will emerge and shape musical standards, and researchers will be
confronted with new ways to conceptualize them. To this end, I
offer an open-ended definition of digital evaluation to reflect on
possible future research directions.
What Is Digital Evaluation?
1. Digital evaluation takes into account “transient environments,” thereby recognizing the potential for such mechanisms
to vanish or to adopt a different or new form. In fact, the digital
evaluation paradigm seeks, in part, to trace such mechanisms;
to some extent, it creates a history of how the arts and creativity have been critiqued and accessed in digital environments,
exploring both dominant and discursive modes of evaluative
practices as they relate to creativity and the arts.
2. Digital evaluation locates itself between empirical research
and the humanities; while much of the study of digital environments comes from an empirical point of view, occurring
within the qualitative study of interviews, textual analysis, content analysis, and ethnography, the overarching framework
addresses broader concerns invoked within the discipline of digital humanities.
86 Chapter 5
3. Digital evaluation has a symbiotic relationship with learning, but much of the definition of learning in relation to digital
evaluation is open to broad interpretations. Self-taught learning
is a discrete category in artistic environments. Therefore, what
does it mean to teach creativity and to learn about creativity?
What do cultural producers, the industry, and participators of
evaluation learn from these related processes? Because many of
the commenting and rating activities are openly disseminated
and given directly to the artists, the artists’ or cultural producers’ self-reflexivity is recognized as an important learning experience. Furthermore, critics and the media industry can also learn
about what appeals to mass tastes.
4. While digital evaluation has a temporal dimension, whereby
the emphasis is on discerning the evolution and mutation of the
evaluative mechanisms in digital environments, the issue does
not merely boil down to providing an analysis of hype-driven
activities. Although these phenomena offer a snapshot of history, digital evaluations of the arts and creativity explore timeless and ontological questions beyond the descriptive analysis
of alternative evaluation activities. In other words, these evaluations unpack enduring questions such as the following: What
is at stake at the height of the commenting, rating, ranking culture? How do we wrestle with the dichotomy of subjectivity versus objectivity, amateur criticism versus expert critique? What
types of practices closely align themselves with this dichotomy?
5. While the nature of the analysis invokes abstraction, not
every context of evaluation of creativity explores the subjectivity
of tastes. Some analysis explored in this report pertains to a more
practical understanding within market research of consumers’
tastes, while other practices explored here relate to the complexity of shaping artistic and creative content. For example, one
Digital Badges in Music Communities 87
of the representative aspects of evaluation activities today is
the rampancy of ranking. Although ranking implies having an
order, does this order shape itself in digital environments, or are
there calculated efforts in which this order is pronounced?
6. Digital evaluation recognizes that the order of artistic tastes
and creativity can be shaped in a variety of ways: overtly or subtly imposed, or collectively created in hegemonic tensions. This
variety echoes Carroll’s (1987) analysis of Foucault’s argument:
“The ultimate foundation of order is not in itself or any metaprinciple, but in the instability of disorder inherent in all order” (56).
Much of the order given to artistic merits is often pronounced
and planned by the architectural foundation of the social media
services themselves; while some instances may show that order
or hierarchy is formed through bottom-up efforts by consumers,
order can be top-down in nature depending on the criteria of
assessment inherent in each context. Sometimes order is shaped
through synergistic efforts between user participation and site
rules and criteria, which are adaptable according to the nature of
participation and vice versa. Overall, digital evaluation seeks to
explain how each artistic and creative community has evolved
and negotiated the meaning-making process in terms of (1) setting, (2) negotiating and collaborating, or (3) resisting the assessment criteria, process, and practices.
Conclusion
This chapter seeks to raise preliminary inquiries in the discussion of digital evaluations as a valuable potential framework
from which to study the emerging phenomenon of rating, ranking, critiquing, and evaluating in digital environments. On the
one hand, these questions and explorations are important ones
88 Chapter 5
from a practical point of view—the careers of creative producers are sometimes at stake, and it is important to question how
legitimate and fair the evaluations are in their impact on artists’
and cultural producers’ reputations and credentialing. On the
other hand, these casual practices have further theoretical and
pedagogical implications in their configuration and how they
affect the standards of music and the arts. As different types of
cultural intermediaries emerge, we are confronted with the question of whether the democratic participation by everyday consumers and Internet users should result in their having a stake in
evaluating artistic practices. In this vein, it is my hope that this
report can ignite a new debate about some of the challenges and
pressing questions at the epicenter of the judgment and evaluation culture.
Notes
Introduction
1. Digital environments here include those related to online environments and digital devices.
4 Underpinning Digital Badges as a Symbol of Honor
1. In discussing the popular music industry, I am referring, in general,
to the U.S. popular music industry. In other countries, such as South
Korea, popular music (K-pop) artists that are under evaluation for formal
contracts must go through a rigorous, extended, formal training process
under the major record labels.
2. In problematizing this idea, I am by no means asserting that musicians are avoiding these contests because they fear potential exploitation; as I argued elsewhere, as well as in this report, such concerns are
not prominent for musicians.
3. This trend needs to be noted with the roles that Myspace played initially in promoting new artists within the industry, as well as for emerging artists in an independent and unsigned context.
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The John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation Reports
on Digital Media and Learning
Digital Youth with Disabilities by Meryl Alper
Peer Participation and Software: What Mozilla Has to Teach Government by
David R. Booth
The Future of Thinking: Learning Institutions in a Digital Age by Cathy N.
Davidson and David Theo Goldberg with the assistance of Zoë Marie
Jones
Kids and Credibility: An Empirical Examination of Youth, Digital Media
Use, and Information Credibility by Andrew J. Flanagin and Miriam
Metzger with Ethan Hartsell, Alex Markov, Ryan Medders, Rebekah
Pure, and Elisia Choi
New Digital Media and Learning as an Emerging Area and “Worked Examples” as One Way Forward by James Paul Gee
Digital Media and Technology in Afterschool Programs, Libraries, and Museums by Becky Herr-Stephenson, Diana Rhoten, Dan Perkel, and Christo
Sims with contributions from Anne Balsamo, Maura Klosterman, and
Susana Smith Bautista
Young People, Ethics, and the New Digital Media: A Synthesis from the
GoodPlay Project by Carrie James with Katie Davis, Andrea Flores, John
M. Francis, Lindsay Pettingill, Margaret Rundle, and Howard Gardner
Confronting the Challenges of Participatory Culture: Media Education for the
21st Century by Henry Jenkins (P.I.) with Ravi Purushotma, Margaret
Weigel, Katie Clinton, and Alice J. Robison
The Civic Potential of Video Games by Joseph Kahne, Ellen Middaugh,
and Chris Evans
We Used to Wait: Music Videos and Creative Literacy by Rebecca Kinskey
Quest to Learn: Developing the School for Digital Kids by Katie Salen, Robert Torres, Loretta Wolozin, Rebecca Rufo-Tepper, and Arana Shapiro
Measuring What Matters Most: Choice-Based Assessments for the Digital
Age by Daniel L. Schwartz and Dylan Arena
Learning at Not-School? A Review of Study, Theory, and Advocacy for Education in Non-Formal Settings by Julian Sefton-Green
Measuring and Supporting Learning in Games: Stealth Assessment by Valerie Shute and Matthew Ventura
Participatory Politics: Next-Generation Tactics to Remake Public Spheres by
Elisabeth Soep
Evaluation and Credentialing in Digital Music Communities: Benefits and
Challenges for Learning and Assessment by H. Cecilia Suhr
The Future of the Curriculum: School Knowledge in the Digital Age by Ben
Williamson
For more information, see http://mitpress.mit.edu/books/series/
john-d-and-catherine-t-macarthur-foundation-reports-digital
-media-and-learning.

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